


Burdened and Beloved

by bebster



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Dragons, Fluff, Horses, McHanzo - Freeform, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Multi, Multiple Relationships, Multiple chapters, OW, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Omniscient, Political Alliances, Slow Build, Tumblr, bebster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bebster/pseuds/bebster
Summary: Jesse McCree had decided to holster his pistol for good and keep low. But when another man with an aim perhaps better than his own, he has to rethink all that he has decided.Hanzo Shimada first loses the respect of his brother, and then of himself. When he is injured and alone, left to die, it takes the compassion of a lonely cowboy to teach him to trust himself again.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Please read: The universe this story takes place in is fictional, though it should follow reality's rules as you or I know them. Just roll with it, but understand that the geography is different. I tried to keep it someone similar to allow it to make sense.  
> As for technology, think Fullmetal Alchemist. They have electricity and plumbing and whatnot, but not super modern things (like a microwave or TV).
> 
> enjoyyyyyy!

The town was plopped down in the center of the dry, desert plains that most travelers opted to walk around rather than through. It was small, but if one wanted to they could live there and not miss anywhere else. It had a saloon, a bar, and two restaurants that circled around the center's well. Behind those wooden buildings lied the town’s necessities, including a school building and a library– two luxuries that the town prided itself on. Then past the trading shops and sheriff’s headquarters was ranch after ranch, lessening in frequency until reaching the outermost ranch that belonged to Jesse McCree, the town’s kind outlier. The cowboy traveled generous miles on his trusted horse to get to Mercy’s clinic every couple of weeks for his scheduled tune-up. 

The doctor was one of the kindest people McCree knew, but more importantly she was the finest doctor for mechanic limbs in the country. It should have been a shame that she resided in the middle of desert, but McCree was thankful, knowing that he needed to live near her, but didn't want to be forced in a tiny apartment in the green, eastern cities.   
“Good morning McCree,” she greeted. Mercy was always cheerful with those she didn't know all that well, but McCree frequented the clinic enough for her to be comfortable enough to drop the innocent facade. “Here for your tune-up?” She said it like a statement more than a question as she straightened some papers on her desk before rising from her chair.   
She led him to another room with a big chair that sat next to a tray full of intimidating mechanical equipment. McCree sat himself down and got comfortable, familiar with the process. 

Mercy set to work, loosening and tightening bolts on McCree’s mechanical arm and tinkering around with the inner mechanisms. It was uncomfortable– not painful– but it made the cowboy feel stiff and anxious, though it wasn't anything new and Mercy had never pricked a nerve in the years she kept his model operating.   
She plucked out the end of a fried wire and replaced it with a new rubber cap before sighing. She wiped her brow and glanced up at McCree, looking at the side of his face.   
“I don't know why you won't just get a new model.” 

“Mercy–” 

“You wouldn't have to come in every couple weeks because it gives out. To be completely frank, it’s dangerous to walk with this arm at all.” 

Mercy had pestered him multiple times about getting a new arm and knew it must be futile because through her comments she continued working on his arm. 

“Just don't like change, doll.” He finally settled. “Plus, this one is serving me well enough.” 

“Maybe. But if you got a new arm you could join the League. I've seen your shot McCree, it's the best one I know of. League soldiers get paid really well.” 

Mercy clearly understood that monetary compensation did nothing to make McCree wish to join the country’s League because she didn't elaborate. He may be the best shot in the damn country, but he sure as shit wasn't going to give up his horses and ranch to go shoot at people he had no beef with. 

“If you’re so keen on me joining why don't you? You're the best medic in the country.”   
She smiled. “Touché.” 

Mercy settled after that, returning their conversation to simple small talk and keeping him informed on the status of his arm. Her hands were nimble, and she worked faster than anyone else who had worked on him before. McCree had decided on living a small life, keeping his pistol holstered and his horses fed was pleasure enough. Mercy was most of his social contact, and whether she felt the same or not he considered her his friend. 

Mercy finished up her work and replaced all the cover plates back to their original spots before letting McCree lift and stretch his arm. He could see there were more parts that were replaced than last time and the pieces were getting rusted and broken far faster each time.   
Mercy led him back to the front to give him the usual spiel on how to take care of his arm before bashfully sliding him the bill. 

“Want to do me a favor?” Mercy asked while McCree pulled out his wallet and counted through his bills. 

“What would that be?” 

“Deliver Pharah’s lunch for me?” 

“Why didn’t you give it to her this morning, considering, oh I don’t know, ya’ll live together?” 

“She forgot it and believe it or not Jesse McCree I’m busy right now.” 

McCree smiled and obliged, agreeing to take it.   
“She at the Sheriff’s?” 

“My wife, the head of the deputies? Yeah she should be there.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay Merc, I’ll head over.” He said. 

Mercy told him goodbye and settled back into her paperwork.

 

The deputy’s office was on the other side of town, but it didn't matter much considering the town only took about thirty minutes to walk from one side to the other, and only a few minutes on horseback, which McCree typically was. 

When he entered the building, it felt different than it had the few other times he had been there. He immediately noticed the front desk was empty and the gentle hustle and bustle atmosphere had been chilled despite the thick dusty heat that traipsed in through the drafty windows. 

McCree lifted his hat to fix his matted hair before putting it back and letting the sound of his heavy boots on the wooden slats break the uncomfortable silence. He chided himself for being nosey, but figured it was no big deal, considering there was never any serious crime in the town. The town was well protected regardless, perhaps out of fear from being so distant from the rest of the city’s forces, or perhaps out of simple serendipity that the best fighters all congregated to the middle of nowhere. McCree took note of that, making the connection in the fact that the most skilled killers all hid as far away from others as possible. His mind turned to Jack Morrison, he had been Sheriff for a few years after leaving the Legion until finally looking tired enough to pass the duty to Gabriel Reyes, a townie that the civilians regarded highly. Morrison was a skilled fighter and had the military medals to prove so. But he, like McCree and some others, ran from something, and found himself living anonymously in the desert. 

McCree had lived in the town longer than Jack Morrison and he remembered the silent outrage the civilians had about Morrison’s arrival. The town was small, but it was far from quiet. The man proved hot gossip for the locals. He was a pale man from up north, which had been an unwelcome thing at the time. The rest of the country was accepting of everyone, but the little town McCree called home had such an adverse distaste for anything different that any change was always spread through the gossip chain like wildfire. He had to wonder if the same had happened when Mercy moved to town and he simply hadn't noticed. Mercy was clearly from the north as well, her skin and hair both being fair. If there was any conflict, Pharah took care of quickly because there was no drama at her and Mercy’s wedding. 

Aside from Morrison and Mercy, the town looked homogenous. It wasn't like that in the rest of the country, but not many dared to travel through the desert to get to a tiny town, and even fewer dared to travel out of the town and find somewhere new. That left the rest of the locals to be tan and dark. McCree was an out-of-towner, but unlike his fellow peers he came from the south and had matching skin. 

“McCree?” 

Pharah had bounded out from around a corner, quickly stepping up to the cowboy with a stack of files in her arms. The woman was truly a wonderful head of the department as she found this honest compromise between beauty and strength that produced a truly admirable and intimidating person. Her long black hair had grown longer than her mother’s since the last time McCree had seen her. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. Pharah had a furrowed brow and acted impatient as she spoke. 

“Mercy had me bring me your lunch since she was too busy to close up shop.” Pharah took the bag from McCree and turned around to place it on the desk.

“You alright, Pharah? Seem a bit distracted.” McCree asked, his southern drawl letting his voice sound calm. 

“Uhhh-yeah, yeah.” She said non-committedly. “A meeting is starting in a minute about the whole tribe thing and it's just a little stressful, but it shouldn't be a big deal. We think they're just going to walk around. Looks like a small nomadic group.” 

Pharah sighed, tucked some beaded hair behind her ear, and straightened out the shirt under her jacket. 

“I gotta go in McCree,” she said, pointing her thumb to a big wooden door behind the desk. “There are other townspeople inside if you want to sit in.” 

“Nah that’s alright, it's almost noon so I need to get back and tend the horses.” 

She nodded and wished him a goodbye before taking her files into the crowded room filled with gossip and murmurs.

 On his way back to his ranch McCree thought about what Pharah had said. He could have stayed through the meeting- his schedule was never that pressing, and the horses really didn't need any care aside from the occasional water fill or hoof cleaned. But McCree was content in his quiet life and looked forward to brushing the horses’ mane and tilling the garden until cooking himself dinner and going to bed and would rather do most anything else other than sit in a noisy room filled with petulance and unprincipled tittle-tattle. Even still, the man found himself curious about the nomadic clan circling the town. It was meaty news. It had happened before, that some brave or quiet group had found themselves lost in the desert and needed water and directions, or simply were some of the more courageous and had decided to try to travel through the dry plains to avoid the months it took to circumvent the vast land. 

McCree wanted to know these strangers, secretly hoping that the group may wander into town, go to the bar and order something other than beer, just to give the bartender a heart attack. He felt mischievous for wanting to shake up the daily life in the town, but it was exhausting that so many of the locals had such a narrow perspective. He ordered a whiskey when he had first moved there and the unopened bottle that the bartender pulled from the back was covered in dust. On the bright side, the whiskey had aged, even if the taste doesn’t mature like with wine. 

The thoughts of the strangers had ambushed McCree’s thoughts for the majority of the day after he got back to his ranch. He tended the horses, imagining the different people that could be brave enough to walk on the dead and dry grass and dust for days without seeing another town. He fertilized and weeded his small garden, letting him mind drift to different scenarios of meeting the strangers in one of the bars or bumping into them at the public well at the center of town. In the comfort of his solitude at his ranch he let his imagination be generous in his scenarios. He began goofy, thinking about sharing a bottle of fine whiskey with an old man who was full of wise stories about life and adventure-providing a good opportunity for the cowboy to live vicariously. Then McCree’s mind slowly went through other scenarios, each becoming more and more dangerous than the last as the man chopped vegetables in his kitchen for his stew. Eventually his mind landed on the troublesome idea of McCree riding into town only to meet a specific handsome stranger. McCree was not a daring man, but in his wild imagination he pictured himself greeting the faceless man and inviting him for a drink or introducing him to the kind faces around town. The cowboy’s mind was even daring enough to allow the night to end like a novel’s, with a shared kiss and a trusted look that would result in a happy ever after.   
McCree was a romantic, though he had never tried to fetch himself f a husband. He found joy in what others found the mundane and knew it would be too complicated and disappointing to try to add another person into his small life.

_Thuup…. thuup….thuup…_

McCree looked out the window above his sink to see where the thumping on his house was coming from. The sun had already begun to set, and he couldn’t see much-although granted, there isn’t much to see.   
The man dried his hands on a towel and grabbed his hat before stepping back outside, taking note that without the sun, the wind had already grown colder. He walked around the side of his house where his private well sat, surrounded by a couple tall, but thin trees.   
_Must be a broken branch…_ McCree thought, looking up at the trees to see if a branch had in fact snapped and was tapping the side of his house. 

His eyes froze however, when they met the dark nightly eyes of a man hiding in the upper branches of the tree. McCree felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he stared at the stranger. The man was knelt on a thin branch, balanced perfectly, as he hid behind another. McCree stared silently at the man, initially wondering if he would say anything. But it was clear from the cold, serious expression on the stranger that he was simply covering his nervous breathing and worried eyes. McCree immediately felt guilty. He felt dirty, like he was being called out for exploiting the strangers in his imagination only minutes ago. The man was nervous and alone and didn't need to be treated unfairly. 

Realizing he was staring, (though he was being stared back at with equal if not more intensity), McCree let his eyes shift down, taking note that a branch had been split, and was tapping against his house. Choosing to let the stranger be, McCree took a step towards the breaking branch, but heard a quiet shuffle from above. McCree looked back up but was surprised to see that the man had moved even higher up. He moved impossibly fast and swiftly, and McCree almost dared himself to speak to the stranger out of awe. 

It wasn’t until McCree saw drops of blood drying on the flat land below the stranger that he finally said something. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice kind, but firm. The stranger still didn't answer but instead gritted his teeth in a dog-like snarl as if offended by the accusation. 

“If you’re hurt, please let me help you. I mean you no harm, I won’t ask questions or anything, but you can’t continue your travel injured.” McCree felt foolish talking to a man who wouldn't respond, but he saw his words slowly sink into the stranger. The man was breathing heavily, a look of frenzy in his dark eyes as he calculated whether or not he should trust the man on the ground. 

Eventually, the man stood on the branch, grabbing the one above him and threw himself onto the ground, making the dust where he landed fly up, adding drama to his landing. He slowly stood up, a thick muscled arm clenching his bloody side as he straightened his back. It allowed McCree to take in the man’s appearance. The first thing he noticed was that he was not a local, and not from the north nor the south. The man was clearly from the lush green countries to the east- and if he was a part of the rumored clan surrounding the town, then the discussion of it in the deputy’s office was well deserved. Those from the east were not trusted due to the ongoing war. 

McCree wasn’t one to judge an individual however, and he instead let his mind finally acknowledge that this was by far the single most attractive man he had ever had the pleasure to witness. He was a tall, broad chested, and muscular man that was loosely wrapped in a silk cloak-like material that McCree hadn’t seen something like before. Even more surprisingly though was the detailed tattoo that wrapped around his arm. McCree tried not to gawk, but he had never met a foreigner like him before. 

The man stood proudly, but McCree could still see that he was in pain as his breaths remained heavy and muscles tensed. 

“Well, come inside.” McCree said, offering a weak smile. 

The man looked out of place as he followed McCree inside the small ranch. Regardless, he was polite, waiting for instructions from the cowboy before moving anywhere. The man even whispered a quiet “ojama shimasu”, which McCree figured to be a cultural thing because it was the only words he had gotten from the stranger yet. McCree took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and tossed it on a small table before leading the man into the bathroom, and nodding at the toilet seat down for the man to sit. He had small, deep cuts on his arms, but McCree focused on the more serious injury on his abdomen. The man would have to nearly completely undress in order for the wound to be tended to. McCree pulled out medicine, gauze, and anything else that might be needed. 

“Do you want me to step out?” McCree asked. 

The man looked at him for a moment, a small ounce of his guard had been lowered and his face was being replaced with a tired expression. 

“No--I can’t do it myself.” 

McCree nodded and smiled before stepping closer to the stranger and gingerly unwrapping the material off him, revealing his toned chest and stomach. In any other circumstance McCree would have been shy and nervous, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and avoiding eye contact, but here McCree knew that the man was in pain and trying very hard not to show any discomfort as he kept his jaw clenched and his hand pressed tightly against the wound. 

McCree kneeled to be more level with the man. 

“Hey, let me.” He said kindly, touching the stranger’s hand to have him lift it. He could see the man hesitate to do so, but eventually he did as asked and removed his bloody hand and gripped the counter to help bare the pain. McCree hurried his movements then, quickly washing it off before disinfecting it, flinching when the man hissed at the pain. McCree knew that the wound was serious, and probably needed real medical attention, but he also knew that this man was not going to head to Mercy’s any time soon, nor would he survive the trip to do so at this point. 

He grabbed a roll of gauze and began wrapping the wound, swinging it around the stranger until it was covered enough for McCree to cut and bind it. Afterwards he finally handed the stranger a couple of painkillers. 

“No, it is okay.” The man said, waving his still bloody hand to refuse the offer.   
“Are you sure?” 

He nodded. McCree put the pills back and made a glass of water for the man- which he drank quickly and happily. 

“Thank you.” He said, finally making eye contact with McCree again. His look had softened, but he was no less intimidating. Even without the crazy, pained look to be compensated for, the man held himself with a calm pride. “It is greatly appreciated.” He said, bowing his head as much as he could without hurting himself. “I will leave now, but your kindness will not be forgotten.” He finished, beginning to rise from his seat. McCree quickly stopped the man, gently pushing him back down. 

“Whoa there partner,” he said with a soft chuckle. “If you’re not in a hurry you should rest. It’s miles into town and much farther until anything else.” 

The man nodded and sighed. “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Of course not. Are you hungry? I’m going to go finish cooking dinner. You can clean up in here while I do so, if you’d like.” 

The man nodded again, and McCree stepped out to let the stranger have his privacy. He took the opportunity to finally organize his thoughts and let the bottled emotions wash over him. He busied himself with stirring vegetables as he first felt adrenaline, then excitement, and finally settling on anxiety as the main emotion for the moment. McCree genuinely trusted people, but he knew he shouldn’t be so comfortable with accepting an “outsider” into his home so casually. Regardless, the majority of his anxiety resulted from a silly attraction to the stranger. McCree could not deny that the man was unfairly attractive, and it was difficult to remain poised and calm around him. McCree tried to settle his heart rate and the twisting knots in his stomach, knowing that his guest was truly in pain and needed a good host more than ever. 

McCree smiled upon hearing the bath water running- thinking to himself that the stranger needed nothing more than a nice bath. The man was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, and some hot water would do him good in relaxing his thick muscles and taking the edge off. 

 _Stop it, McCree,_ he thought, chiding himself for beginning to think sensually about the man in the other room. He again refocused his mind on his stew, taking note that it was probably done and lowering the flame to let it simmer. Afterwards, McCree finally had settled some, and went around to the other side of the dining room table to start a fire in the fireplace. The sun was completely set, and the nightly chill had finally made its way into his small house. McCree tossed a couple logs into the pit before dropping a couple matches on the dry wood. It took a couple minutes for the fire to grow, but when it did he could feel the warmth emanating from it. He watched the flames for a moment while listening to the gentle crackle of the wood splitting in the heat. It was a calming sound, and though it did little to lower his anxiety levels, it did break the silence and interrupt his intrusive train of thought. 

McCree stood and returned to his stew before ladling some out into two separate bowls. If he had expected company McCree would have put more pride and thought into the meal. The stranger would have benefitted from a larger meal, with multiple courses that concluded with a dessert. He wished in that moment that he could do more for the stranger. In their short time together, the man had been nothing but kind and polite towards McCree once inside the house. Even though the stranger was clearly prideful and independent, it didn't result in him being cold or rude like it had in others with similar characteristics. The cowboy was taken with the other man, and he felt foolish for being so. McCree knew he needed to keep his head on straight and stop acting like a child about the other man. The man had been so wary about coming in and staying at all which indicated he was probably still eager to leave. 

Sighing to himself, McCree grabbed the bowls of stew and walked into living room, deciding to wait for the man there. He was surprised, however, to see the man already there, the top layer of his outfit still removed, letting his bandaged muscles be put on display. His long, dark hair was dampened but still soft and billowing looking. The man sat on the sofa with a perfectly straight spine as he mumbled quietly. Not wanting to disrupt his view, McCree hesitated in entering the room, opting to watch and wait. He quickly realized then that the man was praying in another language. His voice wasn’t guarded nor stiff like it had been with McCree, but instead was now soft and filled with reverence. The cowboy wanted to know what the other man was saying, but knew he had not right to do so, so he happily watched the man in awe. McCree knew he shouldn’t stare, but for the life of him he was entirely unable to move his feet. 

The stranger then lifted his head and opened his eyes. 

“It’s alright; you can come in.” The stranger said, bowing his head to acknowledge McCree. McCree did so and approached the man before handing him a bowl of stew and sat down in a wooden rocker beside the sofa. The other man took the food gratefully, fumbling with the fork for a minute as he attempted to stab the various vegetables and potatoes. It was difficult for McCree not to consider it cute, but he tried to focus on the fact that the man seemed relatively unfamiliar with a fork. He also noticed that the stranger kept his back erect, his posture never faltering while he ate. 

“I know I said no questions,” began McCree, breaking the silence. “But any chance I could get your name doll? I’m Jesse McCree if it makes you feel safer.” 

The other man swallowed and nodded. “Of course, anything to repay you for this generosity,” he paused before finishing. “Jesse.” 

It took the cowboy off guard since no one calls him by his first name, but it was a welcome intimacy to share with the man. 

“My name is Hanzo Shimada.” He said, waiting to meet eyes with “Jesse” before bowing slightly in another introduction. The man flinched from pain however and used a free hand to clutch his wound. McCree immediately set his bowl down before kneeling in front of Hanzo, helping the man sit back up without feeling pain 

“Are you sure you don’t want any meds? They’d make you feel better doll.” 

The man simply shook his head as he sat back up. McCree wished the man would just surrender the act and lie down under a blanket and messy eat the soup like he deserved. He just wanted Hanzo to be comfortable, but the man seemed to be doing everything in his power to be anything but. 

“Can I get you a drink then?” 

“Like liquor?” Hanzo asked, actually looking enthusiastic about something. 

“Yeah, like liquor.” McCree confirmed, repeating the words with his southern accent. Hanzo nodded which made McCree chuckle softly. 

“Alrighty then, one liquor coming right up. I only have whiskey though, I hope that will be okay.” He said, raising his voice like a question. Hanzo nodded again, returning to his stew as McCree headed back to the kitchen to grab a handle of whiskey and a couple glasses. The cowboy thought back to his earlier fantasy of meeting some handsome man from the clan at a bar. He wasn’t positive whether or not Hanzo was a member of the group rumored about in town earlier that day, but McCree figured he had to have been considering it was rare for people to travel through the plains, so the fact that there would be two separate groups near the town seemed too far-fetched. 

McCree went back into the other room, setting down the glasses on the coffee table before pouring a couple of fingers of whiskey and handing a glass to Hanzo. The man had already finished his stew and the empty bowl was sitting in front of him. It was warmed McCree up thinking about it and had him biting down a smile. 

Hanzo took the glass from McCree, swirling the liquid around in the glass before sniffing it, visibly cringing at the sharp smell of it. The cowboy did smile at this, knowing not many were keen to strong taste of whiskey. He downed his own whiskey in a single quick shot. Hanzo watched him wide-eyed before doing the same, swallowing the alcohol in one gulp. 

“Hell, now that’s impressive. I don’t know many who can take a shot like that.” McCree said, a bright smile on his face as he looked at Hanzo with sincere amazement. 

“Well,” Hanzo began, “it does taste like shit.” 

The cowboy laughed hard at this, finding complete joy in the fact that the man finally seemed to be relaxing a bit. McCree refilled both of their glasses once more before recapping the handle of whiskey. 

“I don’t think it tastes like shit.” 

“Well, it does.” Hanzo replied, a look of sympathy on his face. “You’re lucky I’ll drink about anything, but this pretty shitty liquor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He said, waving off Hanzo as he looked down at the brown liquid in his glass shyly. McCree took another swig of whiskey before deciding to actually go against his own word and asking another question. 

“You should stay here while you heal- you don’t seem like you want to go into town to get to the clinic and it’s too far out to travel anywhere else.” 

Hanzo nodded but pinched the bridge of his nose while he thought about what McCree had said. 

“Yes, thank you Jesse, I’m grateful.” He said obviously surrendering to whatever mental debate he had going on in his mind. The man took a deep breath before threading his fingers through his mane and balling it up to the top of his head and slipping a band around it, and tying it up into a soft bun, revealing the shaved sides that made the silver balls piercing the bridge of the man’s nose look more fitting. McCree felt as if he could see some more into who Hanzo was then, more than just the injured man he stumbled upon. McCree was also trying desperately to not let his face redden as he truly did gape at the man then. McCree wanted to run his fingers through the man’s hair and pull him in for a warm embrace. Of course, McCree also felt guilty for letting his mind wander like it was- not only was he exploiting the stranger, but he was imagining sharing his life with another man, something he had internally vowed to not do. 

Trying to lead his mind in a new direction, McCree asked if Hanzo had been in a group, and if so if they could be injured as well. He replied, saying that even though he had been with two others, he was the only one to be injured. When McCree had then asked how he got hurt (considering there was never any open conflict in the plains), Hanzo become despondent again, and answered with an eerily evasive, “it was my fault”. McCree knew not to question him anymore. 

After they broke the ice from that, the two men were able to share a more casual conversation for almost an hour before Hanzo began to look tired. The man had leaned back against the couch some and would rest his eyes for long periods of time, but to his credit he seemed to enjoy the conversation he shared with McCree, as uncomfortable and reserved both men were in speaking to one another. McCree got up and grabbed a big wool blanket from the back of the rocker and tossed it to the other man before going into his room and grabbing on of the pillows off his bed and giving that to his guest as well. Once McCree informed Hanzo of where the bathroom was again and that the man was more than welcome to wake McCree up if he needed anything, he wished him a goodnight and went to his own room. 

McCree was feeling then the odd mixture of too much adrenaline and complete exhaustion- a rare emotion that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He thought himself to be silly for being so hyped up from a conversation with the man and it made him wonder if he needed to talk to others more in his day-to-day life. But then again, he reminded himself, the cowboy did talk to the townspeople a few times a week and no one there had ever left the man with a quickened heart rate. 

The cowboy undressed himself, thinking about Hanzo. His mind quickly reviewed their conversation, the man’s beautiful body, and all the questions he had about the mysterious stranger. McCree didn’t want to poke his nose where it did not belong, but he wanted Hanzo to elaborate on his injuries and explain his culture. What language was he speaking? Who was he praying to? Did he have a reason for being in the middle of nowhere? McCree also had questions he could never ask Hanzo, regardless of how close they could get. He wanted to know if everyone from Hanzo’s culture was as polite and well-mannered as he was. McCree figured that they were, but he also had a feeling that some of the courteousness and propriety came from ‘pridefulness’ in the man. Not in an arrogant way, McCree noted, but in the way that Hanzo took pride in who he was and everything he did, like he would never let his guard down or slip. 

McCree remembered then, finally settling himself into his bed, the look on Hanzo’s face when he said that his injuries were his own fault. The power in his expression had left for moment, being replaced with one that McCree couldn’t name, but seemed to be a cross between sorrow and disappointment. The thought made the cowboy all that more curious about Hanzo, but he knew that he needed to keep his mind in check; the odds were that Hanzo would be eager to leave as soon as he had the health to do so, and McCree was aware that no matter how kind he was, he could not break down such a heavy wall that Hanzo had built around himself.   
Sighing contently, McCree rolled over and fell asleep to the sound of soft murmurs to a prayer coming from the other room.

McCree woke up before Hanzo did, which he was grateful for because the man needed his sleep. The cowboy didn’t wait around for him to wake up and wrote a pad of paper _“Headed into town to get some things. Feel free to eat or do whatever, will be back before lunch. -Jesse”_

McCree was oddly joyed in the fact that he was able to sign the note with his first name, still not over the fact that that was how he was being spoken to by the other man. He left the paper on the table by the couch before leaving the ranch, locking the door behind him. He knew it was unnecessary; there never was any danger in the plains and Hanzo was there, but there was something oddly pleasing about the parental and affectionate act of protecting the man inside the house like that. 

The cowboy saddled and mounted his favorite horse, who was cheekily named Whiskey, and rode to town.

“McCree?” 

Mercy looked truly confused and anxious when the man walked through the doors to her clinic. 

“Everything okay? Your arm didn’t give out did it?” 

“Well a howdy to you too ma’am.” McCree said with a facetious smile and playful tip of his hat. The doctor rolled her eyes and busied herself with her paperwork. 

“If you’re making jokes I assume it’s not an emergency.” She said hastily signing a paper and sounding like a teacher scolding her student. 

“Nah, not an emergency. Just wanted to pick of some supplies. Realized my stock’s a bit empty.” 

Mercy looked up questioningly. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, I wrote a list out for you.” 

McCree handed her a folded paper that had four or five items listed in his messy scrawl. She frowned but got up and gathered the items into a small box for him. 

“Now McCree I don’t know what you’re up to, but you be careful okay?” 

McCree nodded and paid her before turning to leave the building. The door opened for him however, and in bustled two new faces in the town. Both McCree and Mercy had wide cautious eyes as they surveyed a young man, whose body seemed to be primarily shielded in a foreign looking armor and a young girl. McCree took quick note that the other man looked similar to the man he had back home. It brought a sinking feeling to his stomach, because either these two were here to get Hanzo back, or they were his attackers. The girl beside him, clearly young, could have been no more than eighteen or twenty. She looked like the other two, still originating from the east. 

“Uhm, can I help you with something?” Mercy asked, bouncing over to the strangers with the usual flair of perkiness back in her personality. McCree thanked her internally for being the first to speak but realized quickly it was rude of him to stand and listen in when it was obvious his business there was complete. 

It didn’t stop him however. 

“Yes, actually.” The man began. “I’m looking for someone. He looks like- well like me, and with longer hair. We really need to find him.” 

McCree felt his body go cold at this. He felt sick and conflicted. He figured that Hanzo would not want his whereabouts given to a stranger, especially having been injured recently, but then again, McCree did not know if he was simply convincing himself of that. Perhaps these two travelers had gotten simply separated from Hanzo, and that’s how the man got hurt in the first place. 

“No, I’m sorry. I know all the faces in this town and ten miles each way, but your two faces are the only new ones to me.” Mercy said, looking genuinely saddened that she couldn’t help more. 

The strangers nodded grimly and left with McCree awkwardly right behind them. Luckily, they didn’t ask him, but the cowboy knew he was still lying to them figuring that the two assumed that he would have spoken up if he knew their missing third partner. 

 _I need to get back. If these are his friends, I’ll simply track them down and tell them then. For all I know these are the people who hurt him._  

McCree knew this was unlikely though. The two appeared friendly and definitely friendlier than Hanzo did in his first impression. The girl was small and smiley, not quite serene and kind like Mercy, but more bubbly and fiery- not one to be trifled with. The man she was with was clearly older than her and had to be close in age with McCree. The resemblance between he and Hanzo was discomforting, but he did his best to ignore it as he hitched his parcel to his horse’s carrier bag. 

 _Just get home. Hanzo will tell you what to do…_ McCree thought as he mounted his horse to ride back to the other man.

 


	2. Chapter Two

Hanzo was ashamed. He had spent the better half of his life protecting his country and preparing his brother to do the same between his nightly prayers of thanks. For so long, that had been his only reason to live, and it had hurt impossibly badly to learn that his brother would not follow in his steps. It hurt even more when he realized that his single but proud duty led him to a wasted life. Hanzo had thought then that the hot fiery shame of putting down his brother for good would be the hardest hurt yet, but when his brother reappeared in the middle of a damn desert, back from the dead, and tried to kill him like Hanzo had years ago, Hanzo learned what the most painful thing in the world is; being hated by your own brother.

And so, when the tired and beaten archer was attacked, he did little to defend himself. And when he was left alone, bleeding to death, in the hot dry plains of the western country, Hanzo was prepared to die.

He had a single mission, and he had failed.

Hanzo had accepted death, even looked forward to it in the short time when he thought he was going to die.

So, when a damn cowboy finds him in timbuk-motherfucking-tu, he’s a little annoyed. It was ludicrous that God would show mercy and distract Hanzo from his pain with a good-looking cowboy. It was far from the punishment he deserved, and the man scolded himself for indulging himself and following the other man inside his house.

And when the other man never hesitated in leading Hanzo with a gentle press on his back or comforting the man with a soft graze on his hand, it made him forced to swallow a lump in his throat while his eyes stung and blinked back tears. When Hanzo was feeling nothing but pain in the stranger’s bathroom and the cowboy rested his own hand on top of his, Hanzo realized he could count all the times he’d touch someone else in the past year on a single hand. There was his distant cousin, who handed him a book one afternoon and their fingers had brushed against each other. A young woman bumped into him in a temple during a holiday, but it was accidental and resulted in Hanzo not even being able to see her face while she apologized. And lastly there was a hug he and his friend from back home had shared when Hanzo admitted to leaving the country more than a month ago. To realize that his own life was so insignificant to the people he lived to protect was a jarring feeling, and it shook Hanzo until he was nauseous and dizzy. He found himself grateful, despite himself, that the cowboy stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Hanzo alone to grip the counter’s edge as he steadied himself against his own silent, racking cries.

It took all of his remaining energy to rise and turn on the bath water. Initially the man had intended to drown the sounds of his mangled breath, but when he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger’s boots on the wooden floor, Hanzo was grounded in reality again, rubbing the tension out of his face and deciding to splurge and take a bath.

Then later, when Hanzo was readying himself to leave the cozy little ranch and go back out into the cold night with a quick atoning prayer, he was met instead with a gentle interruption from the stranger who even handed him a warm bowl of western vegetables and broth. He could only focus on how nice it felt to be simply handed his dinner that night, not even having to ask for it.

And later the man thought about the way the stranger looked when he laughed, or cracked some terrible joke, or the way the stranger held himself around Hanzo. The cowboy never looked down on him despite his current state, nor did he keep a respectful distance like those from back home did. The cowboy was jovial and warm and never shied away from the gentle smile or playful touch. His cheeks flushed with color from the sun’s caress made it obvious that he spent most of his time outdoors, living among the land and the animals in the yard behind the ranch. It was such a small life, Hanzo realized, to live solely among yourself and your bred animals, but it was also a safe and expected life. This man did not live for others, he was not determined by uniforms and schedules, with conferences and traditions, like Hanzo realized he had been. What was it like, he wondered, to wake up without expectation?

When the cowboy smiled with crinkled eyes at Hanzo’s second yawn, all he did was rise from his chair and return with a heavy blanket and soft pillow that smelled like the earth and situated them comfortably for Hanzo before wishing him a good night and tucking himself into his own room.

It left Hanzo feeling hollow. He was in his late thirties and had just realized what it was like to be cared for.

That night he prayed for Jesse McCree’s good fortune.

 

 

_“Oooh Hanzo… what a pity this is...”_

_“Pity indeed, pity indeed it is.”_

_Gimu had his talons embedded in Hanzo’s forearm as he spoke. His tongue holding onto the s’s hauntingly in long slow hisses._

_“What good is this doing Hanzo? You’re hiding from all responsibility by being here.”_

_He said, wrapping his body around Hanzo’s arm once more for good measure. Gisei was doing the same, having already snaked her body up to Hanzo’s neck as she repeated Gimu’s words in slow evil whispers._

_“Leave me alone. I already failed, so just leave me alone.” Hanzo pleaded._

_Gimu quickly tightened his body around Hanzo’s arm, cutting off circulation._

_“Now, Hanzo, let’s not be rash here. Quitting is not a part of your job description.”_

_“I tried my best, but I can’t go back now. Please leave me alone. Go find the next successor to torment.”_

_Both dragons loosened their hold of the man and quickly slithered their way to either arm to properly look at him. Their eyes were coal-black and empty, but as Hanzo was forced to stare back at the faces of Gimu and Gisei, he saw the unspoken threats behind the glistens of their dead eyes. Disobeying the Shimada dragons would lead to a life of a greater torment than the one as the leader of the Shimada clan--the clan he had failed._

_“I understand,” Hanzo concluded, looking down in shame._

_“Very well.” Gimu concluded._

_“Very, very well.” Gisei added in her eerily high and giggly voice._

_“Do not dishonor us Hanzo. This clan has already lost one brother and cannot survive the loss of a second.” Gimu added before fading away, Gisei doing the same after a nervous hiccup and hiss._

 

 

                The sun was ridiculously bright in the morning. In the east, Hanzo’s windows were always shaded by large canopies of wilderness, but Jesse’s house was smacked down in the middle of the western plains which meant little shade for miles out from the ranch. Despite waking up to a ridiculously bright room, it was obvious the sun had been up for a while and he had slept through most of the morning hour.

                Hanzo rubbed his eyes before opening them. He let them adjust to the light as he looked around the house. He turned around to see Jesse’s bedroom door opened and the room clearly empty. The entire house seemed to be empty and it made Hanzo nervous, like last night was just some fever dream and he had stumbled into some abandoned ranch for the night, but he quickly found a note on the table in front of him that suggested otherwise. He picked it up, shaking his head and smiling as he read the small pointy handwriting. It was a simple letter that let Hanzo know that Jesse would be back and that he had free rein over the kitchen.

                _That’s nice,_ Hanzo thought. _It’s nice to be expecting someone._

Hanzo stood slowly, feeling his wounds ache as he tried to stretch his stiff limbs. The cuts from his brother’s weapons were not healed, but they were dull in comparison to the still sharp pain in his abdomen from his stab wound. Through the pain, Hanzo carefully folded up the blanket and tossed it to the edge of the couch before plopping the pillow down on top of it.

Even with permission, he felt a bit rude rummaging through another man’s kitchen and opted for a glass of water instead. He drank the water happily as he looked out of a window. He still found it surprising to see the red and gold landscape as opposed to his green and blue one, but it was a nice surprise, one that was open, warm, and free.

In the horizon Hanzo could see a figure moving towards the ranch. He squinted, watching the figure as it moved closer until he could make out his cowboy on a horse. Hanzo smirked, then stepped outside of the ranch, standing on the porch while he watched Jesse ride up. The cowboy noticed Hanzo quickly and rode up to the ranch before hopping off his horse and holding on to the animal by its reins.

“Well, mornin’ sunshine.” Jesse spoke with a smile that creased his sun-kissed skin.

“It’s morning?” Hanzo asked, looking up to find the sun.

“Not quite, closer to noon.”

Jesse stepped forward, the horse stepping with him. Defensively, Hanzo jumped back, gripping his wound as the sharp movement hurt it.

“Sorry darlin’,” Jesse said kindly. His voice was filled with sadness and his eyes looking guilty as he frowned.

“No, please don’t...I just--” Hanzo flustered. “I’m not very fond of horses is all.” He finished.

Jesse bit down a smile at that. It was clear the cowboy was trying not to find the fear endearing, but evidently, he did. The man took another, smaller, step forward and reached out his hand, his palm up in a chivalrous invitation. Hanzo was taken aback, so unused to such behavior that he felt anxious and untrusting. He wanted to refuse the offer, simply just turn around and crawl back onto the couch and sleep until the pain left, but the sweet look on Jesse’s face was too difficult to say no to. _It’d be like kicking a damn puppy…_ Hanzo thought to himself. He nodded slowly and took the other man’s hand. It was big and warm, and it made something in Hanzo flare up for a moment.

Jesse led Hanzo down a step and off the porch to the side of the beastly big brown horse. It was large, and its body shook and stretched as it breathed hot air out of its nostrils. Hanzo looked down at Jesse with a nervous look.

“It’s alright darlin,’” Jesse said, still smiling as he patted the horse on its neck rather aggressively.

Guiding Hanzo’s hand to the horse’s back, Hanzo felt his hand touch the soft hide of the animal, its muscles flexing and turning under the small downy hairs. The back of his hand was blanketed by Jesse’s big paw. The welcomed touch was distracting and far more interesting than the horse.

“See it’s not all that bad. Whiskey here is a sweetheart.” Jesse said.

“Whiskey?” Hanzo asked with a raised eyebrow. “You named your horse after that shitty liquor?”

“Yeah, well, ‘that shitty liquor’ will grow on you.” Jesse said, lifting his hand from Hanzo’s and moving to pat his horse again before casually adjusting the bridle.

Hanzo thought about that statement, wondering if it was simply a figure of speech or instead some sort of promise for a future. Regardless, he knew it was true that if given the chance it would grow on him.

“Hey, how’re you feeling? I’m surprised to see you out and about, to be honest.”

                “I’m alright.” Hanzo said plainly, not embellishing the lie because he knew that both of them knew he was lying and that there was nothing else for Jesse to do except ask if he was okay. “Although if you’re feeling up to it, I have a favor to ask you?”

                “Of course, sunshine. What might that be?”

“I left my bow in your tree last night. It’s a bit of nice one so I’d appreciate bringing it inside.” He said rather sheepishly.

               

                Hanzo found himself standing beside Jesse, sweating as the ruthless sun beat down on them. They both stared up at tree, Hanzo’s bow resting on a branch near the top. Jesse lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head.

                “How uh-- how the hell did you get that up there?” He asked, truly and completely confused.

                “I climbed. Although I don’t remember putting it up that high.” Hanzo said, feeling embarrassed to have had asked the other man to retrieve something so clearly out of reach.

                “You climbed?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Up there?”

                “Yep.”

                “All the way?”

                “Jesse.”

                “All right, all right, now hang tight.” Jesse concluded, recapping his hat and stepping over to the tree. It wasn’t very green or complex like the one’s Hanzo had grew up playing on. It was one of the few, sparse trees in all of the plains and looked like it wanted to be anywhere but. It was fat with a few thick branches and eventually twisted up together to a pale green top that did little justice to the ones Hanzo was beginning to miss.

                Hanzo watched as the cowboy wrapped his arms around the lowest branch that was just above eye level and pulled himself up.

                _Well that’s not how you do that._ Hanzo thought innocently.

                Jesse stood awkwardly on the lowest branch and looked where to go next. Eventually he picked his next target and grabbed on to it.

                _He’s going to fall if he goes that way…_

Sure enough, Jesse’s feet found nowhere to land and the man fell the few feet to the ground, crashing on to his back.

                “Ouch.” Hanzo hollered.

                Jesse sighed before letting out a loud billowing laugh. It was big and musical, like a drumbeat in a festival. The man laughed as he laid on his back, his hat a couple feet off his head. Hanzo stepped over to him, looking down to him to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured.

                _He looks fine. Deranged maybe, but fine._

The man’s laughter settled in an endless uncontrollable giggle that was too damn sweet for a grown ass man. It made Hanzo’s heart expand and vibrate, giving him signals that he needed whatever had the cowboy laughing like this.

                Taking a shot in the dark was something Hanzo was literally good at doing, not so much figuratively. But in that moment the man knew he wanted to feel Jesse’s untarnished happiness and got down to his level, lying on his back beside the other man. The flat dry earth hurt his back, but it still felt nice to relieve his tensed muscles. Jesse’s laughter ended then, dissipating into heavy humored breaths. Hanzo looked up at the sky. It was the kind of perfect, untouched blue sky that made Hanzo grateful to wake up each morning, like he wanted to sit on top of a moving train, feel the sun beat on his neck and the wind chill skin while some imagined orchestra played the symphony of his life, timed perfectly with the passing scenery.

                On that day, with the cloudless blue sky, the not-so-stranger lying beside him, the thin tree casting weak shadows over them, and the distant sound of horses neighing and snorting with the gentle breeze, Hanzo could imagine the sound of a cello. The bow moving quickly and determinedly to create the low but fast music. It wasn’t the music he associated with the land, or the man, but instead it was the sound of a hopeful epiphany, a painful realization. His heart kept the beat of the song as it pounded heavily against his ribcage and became increasingly excited before crescendoing with the song until at last concluding with a familiar hand being reached out towards him, pulling him out of his trance.

                Jesse helped him to his feet, a gentle smile on his face.

                “Tell you what,” he began. “Let me fix you up instead. That way you can get it yourself.”

                “Yeah,” Hanzo agreed, realizing finally that climbing but not a common skill in the west. “Sounds good.”

               

                Inside, once having cooled off, Hanzo unpinned his hair, letting it fall past his shoulders. He sat at the kitchen table as Jesse pulled a pan out of his cupboard along with random ingredients. Hanzo knew he and the other man’s knowledge of recipes and available ingredients didn’t align, so he decided keeping him company was help enough for the moment.

                Jesse washed his hands before placing the pan on a flame and pouring some oil onto it. Hanzo wished he could help more. Back home, cooking was one of the few things he took pride in outside his work. He was good at it, but most of the resources inside the ranch seemed pretty foreign, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to concoct anything tasty.

“Sooo…” Jesse started, not turning to look at Hanzo as he continued to prep. “Couple things about my trip to town. First of all, I visited my doctor friend and she gave me an herbal tea and ointment to help soothe the pain if you want to try those. You don’t have to, but if it was the whole pharmacology thing that was freaking you out I thought maybe the nature stuff would help.”

                Hanzo smiled at that, feeling lucky that the other man had his back turned against him; he was always embarrassed to show such vulnerable emotion.

                He also felt guilty. He didn’t really have much against medicine, he was simply being stubborn and wanted to relish in his pain as consequence and justice for his wrongdoings. But with Jesse having gone out of his way to try to circumvent this, Hanzo would feel worse if he was anything but grateful.

                “Thanks Jesse, I appreciate it.”

                Jesse lit up at that. He turned around with the famous smile that was beginning to be one of Hanzo’s favorite things.

                The cowboy stepped away from the counter and to another table that had the package he had brought from town on top of it. He opened it and grabbed the tea from inside, placing it next to the stove as he prepared to boil water.

                Jesse went back to work preparing the meal and continued a casual conversation between the two of them. Hanzo was always surprised how casually he spoke to the other man. He never spoke so flippantly with anyone aside from his brother. With everyone else the man was expected to treat all interactions like a business transaction, which in hindsight, most of them were.

                After a few minutes of bad jokes, lame puns, and easy questions, Jesse poured out the tea and handed a cup to Hanzo, who was immediately bombarded by nostalgia from the scent of it. As much as he had prepared himself to exile himself from his land, he still missed it.

                “Also,” Jesse began, furrowing his brow and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he thought about his next words. “You should know there were people asking about you in town today.”   

                “Yeah?” Hanzo asked after a sip of tea. He wasn’t all that surprised. He and his brother had been taught that if you didn’t watch the other person die, chances are they survived. Humans are funny like that. Resilient.

                “Yeah. A young man who looked like you and a younger girl.”

                Hanzo hummed in acknowledgement, not having the words to placate Jesse’s stressed mind.

                “Are they the ones who attacked you? I can alert the sheriff if you want, or at the very least make sure they get out of town or tell them you are here if they are your friends.”

                Hanzo smiled weakly. “No, it’s alright. Just ignore them. They’ll leave sooner rather than later.”           

                “Are you sure?” Jesse asked, more troubled than Hanzo was.

                “Yeah, I promise. Sorry to worry you.”

                “No… no, not at all.” He said defeatedly before returning to chopping vegetables.

                Hanzo felt guilty about that. If he could, he would offer all he had to this stranger, but something told him that Jesse didn’t want anything, nor would he accept a gift. That left Hanzo only being able to offer his gratitude, but even that he was failing to give. And now the man was acting cold to the cowboy and was forcing himself to lie to him. The other man deserved honesty, but the memory of slender dragon’s suffocating him and whispering threats into his ear reminded him that discretion and getting back to country were greater priorities.

                Hanzo looked down at his tea and swirled it around, watching the hot liquid drift over the slow-moving leaves at the bottom.

 

The two ended up sharing a nice meal among gentle conversation that eventually carried on over empty bowls and glasses. Hanzo took note of the way that Jesse avoided questions about family, origins, politics, and even religion. The man danced around any topic that could stir up controversy or lead Hanzo to feel pressured in giving up information about himself. Instead the conversation was kept light, focused on things like hobbies and interests, funny stories, and mindless thoughts.

                Hanzo didn’t know how much time had passed during their conversation, but he had to guess a while. It wasn’t until a horse whinnied rather aggressively outside that Jesse looked away from the other man and towards the window by them. He chuckled softly and patted the table in front of Hanzo.

                “Sounds like they’re getting hungry.”

 

                Jesse had tried to talk Hanzo out of following him outside, but Hanzo, though stiff with discomfort, had felt better after two cups of tea and a hot meal and knew that sitting around in a foreign house would make him restless, so he decided to join the other man in his daily tasks of gardening and tending the horses. It was nice to watch the cowboy in his element. The man handled the horses quickly and easily, taking a relaxed and firm attitude with them. Hanzo felt he badly that he couldn’t help, but both men knew it would only aggravate his injuries. Regardless, he was placated by the warm sun, the sounds of the horse’s hooves trampling already flattened grass and dust, the bluest sky Hanzo had ever seen hanging high above, the vivid colors of the cowboy’s expansive garden, and the soft hums coming deep from the man’s chest. Even with the heat boiling around Hanzo’s skin, it was a lovely scene. Jesse looked right at place as he worked with his hands, the sun making his honeyed skin glisten and lightening the browns in his hair to a reddened blond.

“What're ya starin’ at darlin’? Never seen a corn stalk before?” He asked, twisting and pulling a green bulb off a tall, dry-looking plant.

“I was just thinking how peaceful you look--right at home. Though no, I have never seen a corn stalk before.”

                Jesse kept his eyes on his gardening as he pursed his lips in a poorly hidden smile. Unlike the other bitten smiles and shifted eyes the two had shared, Hanzo knew this smile was not because of the unnamed tension that buzzed between them but was because of something much more innocent. The two of them were so simply ignorant about one another. The two men had danced around any serious or personal conversations, and although it was evident that Hanzo was from the Eastern country and Jesse from the opposing West, the two never were verbal about their homelands.

Hanzo, though homesick at times, was more than happy to bake under the sun as Jesse identified the dry plants. It was a surreal kind of conversation. Hanzo had lived his life in uncomfortable clothing, instructing others, and keeping everyone at an arm’s length away. So it was strange to him, as was most other of his conversations with the cowboy, that he could sit, letting his eyes rest shut for long moments, feeling vulnerable but safe as he listened to the accented voice explain the differences between the colors in bell peppers.

As the information that distinguished the green peppers from the red peppers and the red from the yellow began to grow too boring to comprehend, Hanzo let his eyes drift towards a big bushy plant beside the pepper plants. It was large and dark green, similar to something Hanzo knew from the east, and was a welcome surprise among the other slight or dry plants. On one of the fat leaves that bobbed in the sunlight was a thin spider. It had long straight legs and a small body that seemed almost unnecessary when compared to its limbs. The spider's legs tried to pull itself up to a leaf above but failed and fell back down with the usual flailing bug-like shake as it regained its balance and tried again, over and over. It grew painful to watch the spider keep falling in the same wild drop from the repeating failure. Hanzo decided to tune back into the pepper story but was embarrassed to realize that the biology lesson had ceased, and the teacher was instead watching Hanzo with the same tranquil grin that made the hair on the back of Hanzo’s neck raise. Without any words, Jesse leaned over and opened the palm of his hand to allow the spider to climb aboard. It rested still as the cowboy raised it up to the leaf above and let it back loose.

“Can’t spiders eat or poison your crops or something?” Hanzo asked, swallowing an unnamable emotion.

Jesse chuckled warmly. “Shit maybe.”

The two let their eyes lock on one another’s before sharing a moment of laughter. Hanzo tried to keep his attention on the newly calm spider on the fat leaf, but instead found himself taking note in the way Jesse’s eyes crinkled, and how he used the side of his palm to wipe the bubbling tear from the corner of his eye. Hanzo’s comfortable feeling began to dissipate when he realized that this gentle intimacy was temporary. He needed to leave the other man and go back home, lead his clan like he was always supposed to. Every joyous moment shared with the cowboy was another minute of failure in the eyes of the clan.

Hanzo must have let his emotions show however, because Jesse’s laughter had subsided and was now giving the other man a questioning look.

“What’s wrong darlin’?”

Hanzo shook his head and offered a meek smile to placate him. He wanted to open up, tell the cowboy all that was burdening him, ask for help, or at least explain that the situation was unfixable because of the dragons roping around his neck, tighter in every second.

Instead, he said, “It’s okay. I just realized I should head back soon.”

Jesse nodded with his eyes casted back down towards his plants. “Yeah--no of course.” He stuttered, clearly unnerved by the unspoken finally being talked about between the two of them.

The heat had been throbbing against Hanzo all afternoon. The sun’s waves kept reaching the threshold of pain, but never really stepped through. But then, with the tension between them sizzling away from excitement and beginning to lean towards discomfort, Hanzo felt the sun’s heat bake down on his skin, the rays seep into his reddening skin and set in like a hawk’s talons. He knew that now would be the time, if there was to be one, to tell Jesse what was going on, to finally disclose his title and hometown, the name of the man who hurt him, and that it was his brother, who he had believed he murdered.

“Jesse,” Hanzo began, feeling the cold current of the truth rush against the tip of tongue, just oozing through his lips and begging to be spoken.  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. And if I could stay here longer, or tell you more, or keep in contact with you, I would--believe me I would. I just can’t. I have to go home.”

It was not the admission that he wanted to give the other man, but it was something at least. Hanzo opened up about his true emotions, something he had almost never done aside from private meetings with his brother in their youth. He couldn’t give Jesse the whole truth, but he could give him that, and he felt good about it.

And Hanzo thought Jesse would too. No, he wasn’t telling him all of his dark secrets, but he did share a lot. Yet, the cowboy’s frown only deepened, and his brow furrowed quite seriously as his eyes buried into his work for a minute as the cogs in his mind turned. Then, when that minute was done, Jesse sat back quickly, his glare worsening as he looked at Hanzo.

“...what?” Hanzo asked, eyebrows raised in question and worry.

“Well damn darlin’! I love hearing that you’re thankful and that you want to tell me more and whatnot, but sweetheart…” The man scoffed and shook his head. “You don’t have to leave or do something you don't want to do. Just stay here with me. I know you won’t tell me much, but I can be here for you.”

                And in that moment Hanzo wanted to take him up on that offer. He wanted to lunge over, wrap his arms around the other man, and kiss his cheek profusely between gratuitous thank you’s. Something visceral vibrated in Hanzo because, well because the man had finally said what Hanzo had spent his life secretly praying that someone would say to him. To finally here someone say that yes, it is okay, and no, he did not have to live his life slave to his ancestors and god, was like seeing his own epiphany, but not having it. Because although the cowboy said those dream words, he did not have the authority to make them to come true.

                “I just-- it’s more complicated than that.” Hanzo digressed.

                “Oh, bullshit!” Jesse snapped, surprising Hanzo with his sharp tone. “It’s never that complicated. Just run away, just hide!” Jesse was speaking quickly and passionately, with abundant fervor behind his voice. He composed himself though, taking a deep breath and quickly sliding over to be on his knees in front of the sitting Hanzo. Softly, the cowboy took the other’s hands and let their eyes lock. “Stay with me.” He finished.

                It was a daring thing to say. Hanzo tried to find the words to respond, but Jesse spoke first.

                “You don’t have tell me what you’re running from, but you can stay with me. You’ll be safe.”

                Hanzo shook his head, feeling tears swell in his eyes. “I... can’t.” He said, his voice tightened.

                “You have this option.”

                Jesse spoke with a kind of conviction that gave Hanzo goosebumps. It was the same seriousness that could get him elected, and at the same time strong and dependable. Again, Hanzo wanted to nod his head and say, ‘yes you’re right, of course I will stay!’. But instead Gimu and Gisei reminded him with haunting whispers that if he were to abdicate from his position any longer, then their wrath would be redirected to the clan. Hanzo already knew this. For years he has lived with their constant reminders and for those years he learned to do as told, even if it meant aiming his arrow at his own brother. But for whatever reason, Jesse and his dumb conviction kept having Hanzo questioning it, imagining what else his life could be. Hanzo looked at the other man, hoping the silence is answer enough. He started to shake his head, reminding himself that indulging himself in this any longer was a dangerous game to his family and hometown.

                “I don’t.” He settled.

 

                The tension was uncomfortable for only a short time afterwards. Jesse, though clearly upset by their conversation, was quick to revert to his previous positive attitude. Hanzo felt that he had been the worst guest to this man possible, but even so he Jesse was still supportive, happily chattering with rosy cheeks. Hanzo did not know what Jesse was thinking. The cowboy acted happy and jovial enough, but Hanzo felt that he could feel the space between them, though not tense, to be different. For their whole encounter up until that moment, the two of them had been treading on thin ice, both men pretending not feel the exhilaration and anxiousness about sharing their space. The fact of the matter was that Hanzo was a stranger to Jesse and there was no way to come back from the way two of them had just abruptly been so open and honest and how quickly it had crashed and burned. Of course, Hanzo was grateful for Jesse’s ability to seem to move past everything, but it still gnawed at Hanzo. He was well aware that this dynamic was temporary but leaving the man on poor terms was not preferable. These couple of days were met to be a perfect memory to reflect on in the future, look back at fondly.

                The two men eventually found their way back inside. Jesse must have noticed the rift between the two of them because he opted to fumbling around in the kitchen, wiping counters and organizing drawers. Hanzo wanted to stay near him, mend their relationship with the honesty that no, Hanzo could not stay, but yes, he is eternally grateful for the cowboy’s kindness and patience. Instead the man ended up back in the other room, lighting a fire to a small dish filled with herbs and plants he had found outside. The fumes were nothing like the incense he was used too, but it was still appreciated to have something while he prayed.

                An hour went by slowly, but comfortably. By that point the sun was already well on its way down to the horizon, casting the familiar late afternoon glow through the windows. Hanzo knew he should leave right before the sun is set so he can gather his bearings then travel through the night.

                “Jesse,” Hanzo started, interrupting the other man’s reading. He gave a short, deep hum in response, looking up from the book on the small table he sat at.

                “I should go.”

                It felt like falling into an ice bath seeing Jesse’s face fall.

                _Shit,_ Hanzo thought, standing across the room from Jesse. _I figured he’d be relieved._

Still, Hanzo needed to go.

                “Oh--... Okay.” Jesse said, standing up. “Let me give you some food or clothes or something. I didn’t know you wanted to leave tonight.”

                Jesse looked desperate in the moment. He crossed the room back over to the kitchen and began to bundle up food for Hanzo in a shaky hurried pace.

                “Hey… hey Jesse, I’m good. I’m made to travel light, I’ll be good, thanks though.” Hanzo said as kindly as he could without sounding like he was speaking only to console the other man, which he had to admit to himself he was.  

                All of a sudden it felt ridiculous to already be leaving. Hanzo was far from healed, and the only thing he would have with him is his bow if he can manage to climb up the tree to get it. More importantly, Jesse had a stressed-out shell-shocked expression on his face. Hanzo felt warm knowing how big Jesse’s heart must be for him to truly care about Hanzo and wanting to help him right up until he left.

                Thinking of the only thing he could do for Jesse, Hanzo quickly muttered a rambled _thankyousomuch_ and a _itmeansalotandI---_

But his gratuitousness was interrupted by Jesse’s lips on his. Jesse kissed him slow, but passionately. It was the kind of kiss that ended a novel, not began one. It was the kind of kiss that someone started to say “ _Yes, I am yours! Trust me, I’m yours.”_

                Hanzo leaned into the other man, his mouth opening up to him in reply. Of course, he had to kiss back, this was a kiss of a lifetime. He rested his palm against the flannel covering Jesse’s chest while using his free hand to snake it up around Jesse’s neck. It was such a selfish, indulgent moment, but Hanzo knew it would be his last.

                Jesse pulled away first. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes heavy lidded as he used a hand to softly brush Hanzo’s cheek.

                “You be careful darlin’.” He said smiling. Jesse gave him another soft kiss on the forehead before reaching over Hanzo and opening the door for him.

                Hanzo stepped out of the small ranch, finally feeling ready to leave the cowboy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments or kudos, they mean the world to me seriously!
> 
> Also, I know its moved slow, but the actual narrative begins now, so hang in with me :)


	3. Chapter Three

For weeks after Hanzo left, McCree went over the events in his head again and again. Had he done something wrong? Was there a way to have helped the man any more than he already did? Where was he now, and what was it that was dragging him away?

           The thoughts gnawed at McCree everyday as he, alone in his ranch, finished shots of whiskey between hours of outdoor labor. It took less than twenty-four hours with the other man for McCree to realize he was in fact lonely all this time. In the weeks after Hanzo left, McCree was either buzzed, drunk, or working up a sweat. It wasn't until the trips to town for alcohol became so frequent that the man finally decided to get out of town altogether. He didn't want to pack up his ranch and move, nor did he want to destroy all his possessions and start over. He ended up deciding to lock up his home and abandon it all temporarily: he would join the League. It wasn't anything monumental to the cowboy, but instead was a simple realization of what he was missing in life, and the correction to this.

Enlisting was the last thing anyone, including himself, thought he would do. Nevertheless, when he told Mercy he was leaving she simply kissed his cheek with tear-filled eyes and wished him the best, as if she knew it had been only a matter of time before he had enlisted.

          Telling the others he was familiar with was different. Jack and Morrison just chuckled and patted him on the back saying, “if you wanted to shoot at something, you could have become a deputy”.

       McCree was not as close with Pharah, but when she overheard the conversation with Gabriel and Jack, she marched in, waltzed straight over and said, behind a similar expression to her wife’s earlier one, “Damn it McCree, I’m coming too.” Immediately after this admission, Mercy planned on enlisting as well because she “had to watch over Pharah”, which McCree realized that combatively, the two did work well. Pharah’s offense, flight, and vision were all based off high tech, which is what Mercy was an absolute angel at maintenance. Having the two of them by his side (though McCree certainly did not want to endanger them) was a wonderful comfort. Even more surprisingly, a few days later Jack and Gabriel said that their small desert town would be okay without them and that yes, they too would be joining the caravan tomorrow morning and enlisting in the League.

          This led the anxious group of five to all stay at Pharah and Mercy’s for the night. None of them wanted to have to commute to town just to leave again, and all of them were far too nervous to get a good night’s sleep, so they were all eager in accepting Mercy’s offer to ‘slumber-party-it’ the night before leaving.

        That night was one of the most emotional and memorable of McCree’s life. They ate and got drunk early, beginning the night with crude jokes and boisterous laughter, but it was quick work for them all to sober up enough to sit in the small living room and go around, talking about their fears and passions. Mercy broke down and began to bawl at one in the morning out of fear for her wife. Pharah quickly and silently scooted down off her seat on the couch to sit on the ground next to her wife, soothing the girl with gentle coos and tender kisses. It wasn't long after that Jack looked pale. Mercy’s fear had reminded the former soldier of all the hell he had lived through in the first war with the east, thirty-some years ago. The man was a highly respected and decorated soldier, but the memories gripped him like he gripped onto his chilled bottle of beer: tight and unforgivingly. Gabriel let his hand rest on the man’s thigh as the two of them redirected themselves to a more gentle and private conversation.

        McCree took this time as an opportunity to go outside and check on Whiskey. The man was wracked with guilt. He was responsible for all of them enlisting and couldn't bear to watch them struggle with the fear and pain. McCree gripped the edge of the fence, weak and out of breath, and felt his throat swell with nausea and disgust, nearly suffocating him. His guilt selfishly transformed into jealousy. All four of them were tagging along because of love for one another. Who was he doing this for?

Selfishly, his mind thought of Hanzo, the man from now months ago. McCree could not possibly be hoping that getting sent to the east would give him some shot at what, having some short awkward encounter with the man? The odds that it could happen were near nonexistent, and on top of that, McCree was voluntarily joining the organization that is dedicating itself in murdering the warriors of the east. In the back of his selfish mind, McCree hoped the man was not in the East, and was living easily somewhere far away. The skills Hanzo had suggested otherwise. Chances were he was an Eastern soldier, possibly already injured more or even dead. McCree kicked some dirt with the steel toe of his boot before going back inside to feign sleep until sunrise.

 

     During their trip to the Central capital, the group got into a rather heated discussion about whether or not the League required “uniforming” still. The League was previously known for this tactic of a required dress and battle organization. Every group wore the same thing, trimmed their hair short, and learned specific routines in order to travel. This technique had its benefits, but it was time consuming for new recruits.

      The discussion on the topic had begun out of Mercy’s candid curiosity but evolved into a political debate once Morrison brought up memories of going through uniforming years ago--because he was legitimately that old.

     As it turns out, Gabriel was right on the money that the League was desperate for people, and “couldn't give two fucks about it anymore”. The gang essentially waltzed in, signed their names, then were handed a gun and told that they could trade them out later.

      Everything happened quickly, yet each moment felt slow for McCree because he took the time to mentally memorize each lesson and drill. He also kept a meticulous mental calculation of where each of his fellow friends were. He would be humping behind Gabriel and Pharah, trying to focus on mapping out the land like he was supposed to, and occasionally stop and think: where are Morrison and Mercy? It only took him a minute to remember where the camp was that Mercy had set up her clinic at and the post that Decorated General Morrison commanded at, but it would always take him longer to figure out the fastest way to get back to both these locations. Pharah told him to stop and that “if he’s not looking out for himself, then no one is”. She had to keep reminding the cowboy of this fact, and it always sounded harsh, but she was right. McCree knew that it was far from his duty to be protecting those select few, and if anything, he was putting them all in more danger, but he couldn't help his mind from constantly making escape routes.

Nevertheless, the first two months after enlisting were collectively positive. Morrison, even through bitch fits and grumblings about his aching joints, seemed at home as the lead of the group. Mercy had found a purpose and a skill no one knew she had: the woman lived to save and help people in medical emergencies and was extraordinarily good at it too. McCree was relieved to see his friends find joy in being a part of the Legion. Pharah shined as she followed in her mother's footsteps and Gabriel was all too eager to be promoted as head of the flanking crew. McCree followed suit, always a few feet behind the man, guarding the rear.

Those first two months were spent obliviously. None of them had to face an enemy and felt secure as a defense unit stationed at the eastern border. It wasn't until the third month that McCree remembered his hesitation in enlisting in the first place. He loved his nation, it was just and well-established, diverse yet fair, but he also cared for the opposing eastern nation. The land was sprawling and beautiful. It was home to exotic animals and large flowing waterfalls that cut between thick lushes of canopy jungle. The nation housed a rather homogeneous and traditional crowd, but they were a wonderfully cultured race: proud and honored.

In their third month, McCree’s group was sent into the jungle and to a small village to speak with a clan official about renegotiating the border terms. In truth, this was a relatively safe mission in comparison to the other groups being sent on suicide, diversion, and pillaging missions. However, their western bubble was popped when the crew had to trudge through muddy land that was blanketed by thick greenery. At times McCree felt like he was suffocating, unable to breathe as the mist and aromatic scents drifted around and filled his lungs.

Though the land was surprisingly vastly different from what they knew, it wasn't until they passed through a small city that they all finally felt far from home. None of them were averse to those different than them, (considering they were a rather diverse crowd themselves), but the eastern natives proved to be a terrifying group of people. Initially, the crew was awed by the beauty in the city. The white buildings were wrapped in thick vines and greenery, with small rivers running through and around the town, each sheltered and shaded by delicate pink trees. The city also had beautiful large shrines and temples that were on either end of the main street, creating a nice sense of Feng Shui, (as McCree knew from a book he had once read).

Culturally, however, McCree and his friends were unable to blend in. They were too loud, abrupt, and rude. Some of the citizens seemed unfazed by it, simply keeping to their routines, but others were clearly offended by their presence. The crew had hoped to have good food and shelter that night but had no luck in finding hospitality among the strangers. They opted to again pitch their tents in the heavy forest and splitting packages of dried fruit and nuts.

That night McCree felt oddly restless, spending most of the night turning over and back over in hope of Feng Shui-ing his body to sleep, (if that's how it worked, he wasn't sure).

He thought of the man from, what was it...a year ago? McCree wasn’t sure. The reality of Hanzo was so faded in his mind that it felt like a hazy dream. But, McCree knew he had been real. Being so close to the town, McCree remembered the smaller details of their time together. He remembered the man’s abundant show of gratitude and polite mannerisms. He remembered how at night, he heard the soft murmurs of the man praying. Of course, he would never know what the man was praying to or for, but the wonder would often pop up in his mind. Was it simply a nightly routine? Had the man been praying out of fear? Of gratitude? Regardless, the gentle tympani of his voice sounded near and familiar, as if McCree could step out of his tent and see the man in the soft cloth and silk praying on his couch back home. Feeling hungry, cold and still sweaty, McCree thought about that moment with splendid detail in hope of distracting himself. That night, Hanzo’s hair had been down, resting just past his shoulders in thick, dark waves. Having a second chance, and knowing what McCree knew now, the cowboy would not have let the man left. In fact, if he had another glass of whiskey in him, McCree could convince himself to interrupt the man’s harmonic prayer and sit beside him. The two of them would lock eyes as a declaration of trust before McCree would gently brush the man’s hair and tuck it behind his ear. The cowboy’s fingers would not be accustomed to such a soft act, but he would feel blessed to be trusted in touching the man so intimately.

Then, McCree would refuse to draw back his hand, and instead use the opportunity to let it rest against the man’s cheek as he rubbed the high bone with the pad of his thumb. McCree would be slow, taking in consideration ever curve and crevice of the man’s face. Hanzo was a beautiful work of art, living in an erotic balance between soft and strong. The man was everything McCree knew himself to not be. And it was damned alluring.

This would be the time, once Hanzo had finally leaned into the touch and relaxed, that McCree would reposition himself on the couch, pulling the slightly smaller man onto his lap and generously kiss the man. He would give him everything he had in the moment: opening himself up and greedily receiving. His hand would roam, though cautiously out of respect for Hanzo. He would let one hand gently cup his face, the ends of his fingers brushing through the man's draping hair. The other hand would lay dormant on Hanzo’s waist, secretly feeling the thick ropes of muscles that were underneath the thin cloth undershirt. McCree would be hesitant to move forward, the man he was sharing this moment with was beautiful and graceful like a wild animal. Hanzo was meant to be observed and respected, if you acted too harshly he would be sure to run away. McCree knew himself when infatuated. He had only been with a small handful of others, but the feel of Hanzo’s skin was something that numbed the cowboy’s mind into pure bliss and erotica. He would let his lips slide from the other man's mouth down to where neck met his toned shoulder. Placing delicate licks and kisses before kindly sucking would be sure to arouse a moan from the other man. The sound alone would have McCree feeling–

McCree sighed. His forearm was lazily draped over his forehead as he lay on his back. He had made himself hard and it was an uncomfortable feeling. His cock was aching, but McCree continued to neglect it. Not only did he wish to not indulge himself by dirtying the other man, his heart was throbbing in attempt to fill the hole he himself had just created. The cowboy was a solitary man for a good reason; he was a romantic. Spending barely two days with a stranger months ago had enough to have the man with stinging eyes lying in a tent for a cause he only half believed in. Without a doubt, Hanzo was busy with his own life, whether it was a focus in survival or he, as he said he would, returned to where he had come, and was living comfortably wherever that may be.

Still, McCree had made that man into something grand in his mind. Though he knew in reality it was true too. No one not worthy of respect or praise carried themselves the way he had. Hanzo was proud and beautiful like the country that birthed him, and McCree respected that. But it was the domestic conversations and friendly tension that they shared that had McCree imagining Hanzo as someone who he could cook for, or thread his fingers through his hair in the early morning. The domestic things.

That night, McCree became sure of something, he just didn't know what.

The morning came despite the cowboy not getting any sleep. Through the dense forest terrain, the sun’s rays found its way to the sleeping campers. Everyone got up and packed their gear through complaints about sore feet and empty stomachs. The whole group was hitting the point of constant exhaustion and irritation. Mercy seemed particularly fed up that morning. The small blonde girl had dirt and grime in her hair and face, and unlike her tan peers she was unable to mask it. Pharah tried to make her feel better with dumb jokes and cheek kisses, but the girl had a small pout for the entire morning. Eventually, she ended up a few feet behind the group, her feet dragging as Pharah ran ahead to ask Gabriel for water.

McCree took Pharah’s place beside Mercy.

“Hey sunshine,” he grinned. “Want a lift?”

Mercy shook her head. “Aw McCree, you're making feel guilty. I can walk myself. I need to stop being so weak about all this; I don't want to be the group’s dead weight.”

“Most people here are your family, so you can't be dead weight no matter what.” McCree said thoughtlessly. Once he spoke he realized it was true for both her and him. He had been with this group most every day all day for months now, and these people were his family.

Mercy smiled weakly and nodded as McCree took off his hat and placed it in her head, shielding her from the sun up above. Most of their travel time was through dense and foreign forests, but now they tread through a large sunny plain. Villagers were seen hunched over has they harvested food from the marsh. These were kinder women who often smiled with fat cheeks and the tender eyes.

One of the women gave Mercy a peach she had in a bag. After that, the blonde was a bit more herself, finally having fresh food in her stomach.

“Hey, McCree?” She began, still walking beside him.

“        Yeah?”

“Why did you join the Legion? When you came in for your appointment last time you were still very adamantly against it.”

“I just--”

McCree thought about his answer carefully. There were many reasons he had been telling himself: He wanted to get out of town. He couldn't stand living alone anymore. He wanted to try something new.

It wasn't until speaking to Mercy that he realized he was lying to himself.

He knew he had a ridiculously pitiful crush on Hanzo after only spending a couple days with him but admitting the real reason for joining the Legion made McCree disgusted with himself and it made Hanzo terrifyingly powerful.

McCree had joined because he was looking for Hanzo.

McCree knew that the only way for him to cross the Eastern boarder was to be a part of the Legion. But being a national weapon just because of some hopeless crush was rock bottom. McCree had left his ranch and animals (besides Whiskey), and was traveling everyday through the foreign land, scrutinizing each unknown face making sure it wasn't Hanzo.

“Figured I oughta put my perfect aim to use.” He lamely finished.

“Okay, McCree.” Mercy said, unconvinced.

 

Later, when the crew was only a mile out from their final destination, Lucio, another member of the crew, was insistent on keeping morale high. Though everyone was dragging their feet and yawning, Lucio ran up and down the length of the traveling squad to tell funny stories and jokes. Eventually the small man began to sing old traditional folksy songs from back home. The songs were from their childhoods and did wonders in bringing cheer back into the team. Lucio’s boisterous “repeat after me!” successfully had all the travelers doubling over in laughter as they tried to keep up with his chants.

Initially, and now regrettably, McCree was frustrated with Lucio being assigned with him and his friends, but he was admittedly talented in the art of Morales and smiles. On top of the that, the man was highly aware of his surroundings and was able to make sure everyone was in the same boat, rowing together. Jack may be a damn fine leader, but Lucio was the backbone of the team.

Those in the front of the pack carried on one of the man's many songs, chanting wildly as they bumped shoulders and ruffled hair. Lucio took a place near the back, finally out of breath, and walked beside McCree.

“Howdy pardner. ” Lucio breathed, using his best (out-of-breath) exaggeration of the cowboy's southern drawl and slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Lookee there at them fine city lights up ahead.”

McCree rolled his eyes but did notice the Hanamura buildings peeking out from treeline. The city looked grand sitting on the mountainside like that, with temples and shrines being held up by monsterly mother trees that were larger than most the buildings themselves.

The town, though distractingly beautiful, was not the nation's capital. It was rather small in comparison and was not home to the government. It was, however, the birthplace of the nation's head clan, and those members often resided there.

During training, McCree had been taught about the culture and history of the eastern land. Yet, the information he was given about the clan was limited. He knew the clan was run by the Shimada family and that it was an influential force in the East’s government.

“It is something, isn't it?” McCree answered at last. Lucio’s jeering expression softened into a smile.

“Damn straight,” he said softly. “Almost feel bad about going and demanding land from them.”

McCree nodded. He agreed but he was sure as shit guiltier about a lot of other things too.

“Pssst… PSSSSSSST.”

McCree and Lucio both turned to the bushes beside them and stopped walking. They nodded Mercy and Pharah on, leaving themselves in the back of the group.

With a readied hand hovering over his pistol, McCree led Lucio over to the talking bush.

“Y… Yeah?” He said, feigning confidence.

A small Eastern girl, looking to be near the drinking age--if that, stood up and cautiously eyed the men in front of her. She was slender but carried a serious enough expression that McCree decided not to test her.

“Are you going to Hanamura?” She asked, her big hazel eyes shifting between Lucio and McCree.

McCree knew he shouldn’t trust her, or at least be defensive, but she looked oddly familiar, though he couldn't place where he’d seen her before.

“Yes. Why? Do you wish to travel with us?” Lucio replied, acting curiously. He did not hesitate in stepping close to her, running a dirtied hand through his hair, and opening a palm to her, inviting her to join the group. Though McCree had no qualms about the eastern residents, he knew it was a shitty thing for Lucio to do; they were, after all, engaged in a war with her nation.

She giggled highly and shook her head. “No. I'm insisting you cease your traveling. The Clan Leader won't appreciate your presence.”

“What? Why? We wish you no harm. The leader should know our reasons for visiting and be aware that they are peaceful. Our two groups have been in correspondence.”

The girl sighed.

McCree had an uncomfortable feeling about her. Superficially, she was advising them to stop their travels. Which makes sense considering the two nations are at war. Perhaps she was kin to the clan or someone in association. Or, McCree thought, maybe she knew something else. This girl had waited on the trail, as if knowing they would be arriving that exact moment and was vague in her warnings. She hadn't threatened them or alluded to possible violence. Instead her words felt otherworldly, all-knowing omniscience that reverberated in McCree’s core. She felt like a beginning, like her words were shrouded in a mystery that McCree was bred to solve. The situation was dripping with pregnancy, and the cowboy could taste his own excitement.

“Please understand that if you…” she began again, looking down gravely as she gathered her thoughts. “Do as you wish.” She settled. “Just know that if you do choose to open engagement with the clan, you’d be returning to a danger you’ve already escaped.”

With that the girl grinned nervously before turning back to the forest and masterfully began to travel through it. Lucio attempted to stop her, clearly irritated by her vagueness and mild threats, but had no luck in keeping up with her.

McCree felt the stranger’s words echo in his mind, bouncing against the side of his skull. He knew that she was speaking of something relevant but failed to put all the pieces together. Still, the girl was an apparition of what he knew he would soon come to be a part of.

          Arriving at Hanamura was equally a splendid and stressful event. Unlike the other town they had traveled through, the city’s borders were protected by mountains and cliffs, and where geography failed, a stone wall stood, with archers hovering above, waiting patiently in tall wooden towers for someone to make a wrong move. Because of such protection, Hanamura only had a single entrance, ( _for those that can’t scale walls or climb trees_ , McCree thought to himself cheekily). The entrance, expectedly, was also well-guarded and the man that Jack spoke to kept his chin raised above his neck and his eyes narrowed. In the end, the man had no reason to keep the group out, and only insisted that their weapons be kept in a locked box outside the city’s border during their visit. It made some of the crew uncomfortable, but McCree felt it fair; streets where children played, and farmers worked were no place for weapons. He knew that even more so than the west, this nation would value keeping the violence on the battlefield.

          It took what felt like hours for everyone to get checked, signed-in, their weapons registered, searched, and cleared before they all finally made it past the initial gates and stern faces of the robed men. It was worth it, however, because the city encapsulated all that they had seen so far. Lush giant trees sat on the tall stony perimeter, holding up houses and shops that had warm faces standing behind counters that were covered in messy signs and paintings. Music could be heard from multiple directions, but all of it was fun and bouncy and culturally folksy. McCree felt like he was in a festival, and that he needed to find something fatty and fried to complete the experience. He probably could, he realized, as there were many street vendors hollering in another language about the good-smelling food they were making and spearing onto wooden sticks. The stony streets weren’t terribly crowded, but the outside market, as McCree assumed he was in, was definitely busy. People bustled by with canvas bags of local produce and children were playing careless games of tag, quickly darting between their slightly irritated parents. It wasn’t what one expected from a city in war, McCree thought.

On the farther side of the city, the dark greens and warm lamplights lessened into a small clear-watered creek that trickled between thick patches of cherry blossom trees, the pink petals drifting down with the soft breeze and landing silently on the gliding waves below.

          With not much direction as to where they were headed and a language-barrier preventing them from asking the locals, the group decided in following the pink river strictly out of awe from its beauty and amazement out of the sheer size of the city. It felt as if they were all walking back into an unknown forest, heading towards another small village for a cold, sleepless night, not towards another part of the same city.

          Amazing as it was, only a few minutes later they all stepped out from under the pink trees and found themselves on a far quieter side of the town. It was nearly silent aside from the sound of bamboo hitting against stone in nearby gardens, and windchimes singing lightly in the wind. Hiking up a tall hill of stony steps onto a larger path, the group found themselves in the middle of a circle of multiple cultural buildings; temples and shrines faced them between steaming bath houses and two large buildings that seemed to silently dominate the others, one even more so than the other, with an impeccably large red roof a thick dark green tree growing around, through, and on top of it.

          “What do you bet...” Gabriel elbowed Pharah, “...that this is where we are going?”

          It was, without a doubt, their destination. The building stood up high and marvelously, resting at the apex of the mountain that the city resided on, almost imploring to be worshipped. If the clan’s leader lived in any other building it would a ripe form of blasphemy.

          Everyone knew they should enter the building, introduce themselves, or at the very least send Jack in, but either due to intimidation of the prestigious building or the smell of ‘tempura’ wafting from back down the hill, the group casually opted in finding food to eat at the “one of those cute little stalls with the good smelling shit” as Lucio had said.

          They did just that.

          Before their travels the group was given some eastern currency to be used only in emergencies, but, the group unanimously figured, they made it to Hanamura relatively unscathed, they should be able to make it back just the same.

          Using the majority of the gifted currency, the group bought and ate lavish fried seafood and vegetables and rinsed them down with various dark liquids (whether any of these beverages were alcoholic or not was above them).

          There is something about eating with others, regardless of unfamiliar tastes, that is able to bring one at home, at ease with his or her surroundings, McCree noted. Yes, everyone was still somewhat tense, but the edge was taken off once their hunger had subsided. Mercy and Pharah were in a tangle of arms as they sat, watching the locals walk by in their daily duties. Other members of the group were in a heated card game, circling around the pile on a wooden table. Even Jack seemed more relaxed, the hard line on his forehead fading.

          Hanamura, it seemed, naturally comforted those that visited. It wasn't a sleepy town, people were hustling back and forth and loud laughs and snickers could be heard almost each minute. Instead the city demanded reverence and respect. The paths were pristine, and guards seemed more bored than alert, as if crime was merely a myth and not at all expected, even at a time of war. The closer one got to the shrines and clan houses, the more the deference could be felt. People, even children, were silent, walking carefully and regarding the buildings with appreciative looks. It was eerie, to some degree, for the westerners. Their cultural lacked such discipline, and it was jarring to see everyone keep their toes in line without a second thought. Though nerves were calmed, the righteousness held by the religious district had the group feeling unprepared. They knew next to nothing about the men they were meeting soon and had no idea as to what to expect. The meeting, McCree knew, would not be casual. The easterners would, undeniably, make the gathering go as stiffly and uncomfortably as possible, as if their courteousness was a weapon. It was, they all realized.

Still, it was a pleasantly indulgent afternoon. As the sun tired and welcomed evening with rosy pink skies, Jack’s frown returned, and everyone knew it was time to refocus on the mission.

It was immediately agreed that everyone going in together was weird, and admittedly dangerous, so they elected three representatives: Jack, their commander; Symmetra, their head of foreign affairs; and McCree, who, as Lucio said, “has a nice face and won’t scare the fuck outta the ‘boss man’ like you will Jack, uhm–Sir”.

McCree acted upset about being chosen, but, he was excited to meet the powerful Shimadas. This may be his only chance to have a proper interaction with the easterners, after all.

          After a busy half hour of guards invading privacies and double checking their planned meeting, they the three finally made it inside. Initially McCree felt let down; he was expecting a baroque scene, rooms lavishly filled with excessive ornaments and tapestries, and an overall disgustingly impressive display of wealth and status. Instead, McCree was faced with the opposite, which he came to believe to be far more impressive. They walked down a pale hall made from tatami mats, with open rooms to one side. Each room had open sliding doors and open sliding windows, mats and low tables, beautifully exotic plants and delicate looking porcelain tableware. McCree realized, then, that he wasn’t bearing witness to a home of lavish celebrities, but instead the hearth of traditional eastern culture.

          The other side of the hall did offer a more aweing sight: the large tree that the building was supported on and around was featured in the courtyard. The trunk, which was so large that McCree’s open arms would not even begin to curl around it, was in the courtyard, surrounded by lush grass and short paths with metal benches and miniature shrines. Those that were there were silent, resting their voices in reverence. The trunk was thick and dark, almost black, and though the leaves could not be seen from the low height, the dark greens of it were reflected down, casting a calming shadow on parts of the land.

          As much as McCree would love to spend the rest of the day there, he followed the men in front of him to the room at the end of the hall. Inside was similar to the other rooms: clutter free with an understated elegance. The room was obviously where the meeting would be held, with steaming tea on a table and a high platform for the eastern officials to sit.

          “Sirs,” started an easterner, starling McCree out of his trance, “Would you like something to eat? Our chefs have prepared for your visit with their finest dishes.”

          As if timed, many servers came out, balancing multiple plates on a tray, before setting down hot, enticing meals on the table in front of all of them.

          Symmetra leaned over to McCree, “Guess we shouldn’t have eaten before, huh?” she whispered.

          Though McCree had to bite down a laugh, he found himself struggling to swallow any bites of the delicious food served to him. Jack began to devour his second oversized meal of the night, but McCree knew that he would have to ration bites for a chance of propriety.

          The meal was even more uncomfortable as the easterners chose not to eat with them. The servers and guards simply stood by the door and the man who led them was seated on the platform, waiting for the two other cushions to be filled. The time was spent with the easterners patiently watching the westerners eating habits, and the westerners struggling to eat the offered food. _These people have some really shitty power moves…_ McCree figured.

          Eventually the ‘rat bastards’, as McCree was beginning to grudgingly consider the elite clan associates, took away their filled plates and bowls and let them know that “although he is very busy, he is sparing a couple minutes to meet with them’. Though this was a planned rendezvous, it was like pulling teeth to meet with the clan leader, AKA Mr. Rat Bastard.

          With many of the workers filtered out, two men came in, both dressed in the finest silks that draped loosely around their figures. They knelt on the two cushions on the platform. McCree turned his attention to the older man, whose hair had gone exclusively gray and whose limbs were thin and weak looking. He wasn’t intimidating like imagined, but he did seem wise.

          Jack, McCree realized, was talking to the old man, swapping simple introductions and pleasant hospitality smiles.

          “Please understand,” the old man said, the kindness from his face leaving and being replaced with seriousness. “Mr. Shimada is too busy to negotiate the border terms. Besides, we believe it is in both of our citizens’ interests that we--”.

          McCree stopped listening after mention of Shimada. The name, although he had heard it many times in training, suddenly felt oddly familiar. Though the old man was not apparently the leader, Mr. Shimada, McCree gathered, was the younger man.

          McCree let his eyes set on the other man. And finally, all the pieces fit together, and the planets aligned together to tell McCree that yes, this was all meant to be. McCree felt his hairs raise as his eyes met the other man--Hanzo’s-- intense gaze. The man’s eyes were set on McCree, refusing to move anywhere else. He looked a little angry, but his eyes were wide with a furrowed brow and loose mouth.

          McCree wished he could tell Hanzo to move his gaze, to focus on the issue at hand, but he also wanted to crawl up the platform and pull the man into his arms and say, “Hanzo I’ve been looking for you! It’s been almost two years, but here we are!”

          Instead Hanzo kept his intense gaze as if to say the opposite: ‘ _Don’t tell anyone, don’t bring this up. We don’t know each other, strangers, strangers. We are strangers.’_

But at the same time, McCree felt completely and irrevocably drawn to the other man. As if fate herself came into the room and kneeled beside McCree, letting her palm rest on his shoulder, nodding. _This is something,_ McCree thought as melted in Hanzo’s eyes, forgetting about everyone else in the room. _This person is supposed to be in my life._

And though McCree could sense Hanzo trying to will the cowboy to forget about the events from over a year ago, he could even easier sense the equal excitement and fear emanating from him in heavy vibrations.

He wanted this too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry to be posting this 3 weeks late. I have a ton of excuses but i know yall dont really care and there all just excuses in the end :) regardless, i hope yall enjoyed! 
> 
> From this point on it should move faster and be more cutesy???/


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small tidbit:  
> Gimu (roughly) means obligation  
> and Gisei (roughly) means sacrifice

_“Oh Hanzo, there’s no need to look so down.”_

          _‘Yeah, Hanzo”_ Hiccup _._ _“Don’t be such a sour puss.”_

          _“We do have a lot of travel time ahead of us. It’d be more fun if you’d play travel games with us. First to find a white horse wins!”_

          Hanzo looked up, his eyes lazily scanning the empty desert-like plains, before sighing and letting his gaze fall back downwards. Gimu and Gisei were playing a casual game of tag on Hanzo’s shoulders. The smarter dragon swiftly hopping up to his head and the slower dragon slowly stumbling up too, only for Gimu to have hopped back down to a shoulder. As they continued this cycle, the two dragons took turns in launching insults at their master.

          _“Hanzo dear, I’m not sure what you were thinking. Running away after your brother, leaving the clan, then playing house with a cowboy. What a terrible clan leader you are turning about to be.”_ Gimu said.

          “ _Terrible, terrible!”_ Gisei echoed shrilly.

          Ignoring them, Hanzo clenched his jaw and felt his molars throb from the pressure. The sun was far too hot but was even brighter. He kept his eyes squinted as he felt the dragons play on his shoulder, occasionally lightly whipping their tails against his cheek or digging their claws too far into his skin. Still, the man continued staring at the brown dust with thin eyes and a stern frown.

          _“Truly no fun.”_ Gimu settled, picking a shoulder to rest on as his tail swung back and forth against his back. Gisei did the same on the other, but Hanzo felt claws digging into him tightly and the dragons’ bodies lying closely against, as if ready to fall.

          _“Truly, truly!”_ Gisei finished, echoing again.

          _“Hanzo, we still believe you will do right by your people once we return. But you know what you must do now, yes?”_

          _“Do you, Hanzo? Do you?”_

          _“Hanzo,”_ Gimu continued. _“You will not dishonor us again, will you? You need to take your position seriously and with--”_

          “No,” Hanzo said, his expression unwavering. “I will not dishonor you again.”

 

          Arriving back at Hanamura had been equally relieving as it was disheartening. Hungry, dirty, and exhausted, Hanzo was looking forward to a cup of his favorite tea, a hot bath, and his bed of silk sheets and satin pillows.

          But when he drank the tea he smiled at the memory of the too-sweet medicinal tea Jesse had worked hard to get for him. And when Hanzo took a bath it was hard for him to remember that the last bath he took was a gift of a stranger’s generosity. And at night, as exhausted as the man was, he stayed awake to let his fingers run across the smooth surface of his own bedsheets, wishing instead for them to be the scratchy, yet oddly comfortable, thick woven blanket McCree gifted. It had smelled like the earth and the inside of an old, dusty cabinet, but Hanzo missed the blanket, and his heart ached for the companionship that it had represented. He fell asleep, in the early hours of the morning, chuckling at the fantasy of swiping the red and navy native blanket from the man’s home as a keepsake.

          In the days after his return people did a poor job in keeping their voices low when talking about Hanzo. Though no one was disrespectful towards him, and most people were not upset with his sabbatical as the ancestral dragons were, they still expressed frequent caution among one another with petty comments like, “I hope he’s in the right mind to lead this clan” and “we are in war, who knows who he fraternized with.”

          Those days Hanzo spent playing catch up. He signed papers, read documents, attended obligatory meetings, and made a couple public declarations (primarily in regard to his disappearance). It was easy to fall back into this routine, especially considering there was someone always prepared to keep him to it.

          Hana, the daughter of his foreign advisor had run away with Genji, Hanzo’s brother. Initially Hanzo assumed his brother’s disappearance was merely coincidentally timed with Hana’s, but after tracking down his brother in the western plains, he was proven wrong because she, with her long brown hair and big innocent eyes, was there too. Hanzo always had a soft spot for her; she was nice and a hard worker but still lived the solitary life of an adolescent in the clan’s castle, something Hanzo was far too familiar with. He had known that there was a small chance he would succeed in mending his broken relationship with his brother, but he had hoped in bringing the girl home at the very least. As much has Hanzo wished a better life for her than what was offered in Hanamura, he knew that the life in the west was far harder without the proper resources.

          His failure in bringing her home made his meeting with her father an uncomfortable one. They never spoke about Hana or his ‘trip’. Instead it was the most business-like meeting he had ever had with the jovial man. He kept his eyes down to the paper in front of him and addressed Hanzo distantly, with words like “If that will do sir” and “sir, do keep in mind that...”. The two men had often discussed similar matters over sake and small treats as they laughed and told rather incriminating stories. Like always, Hana’s father was advising Hanzo how to handle an upcoming meeting with a group of western soldiers. Apparently, in Hanzo’s absence, an in-person meeting to discuss border terms had been agreed upon, but Hanzo already knew he would not be permitted by his dragons to give up any land, as all land west of Hanamura was affiliated with the clan’s religion.

Thus the man, uncharacteristically serious, said, “we must treat the westerners kindly, with hospitality, and make them feel welcome. As they are,” he quickly added. “Then, as long as you make an appearance, all we need to do is say that it is in the citizens’ interest not to change their land, for both counties.”

          Conversations with the foreign advisor had always been filled with passive remarks about westerners. When the tension between the two men was absent, these meetings always went by with a few business-safe jokes, pity laughs, and formality comments before the advisor would give some succinct order to shrug off the westerners. That day, Hanzo felt his head ache and his skin itch at the man’s words.

          “I understand,” Hanzo said placatingly. “Though they it seems they will not be requesting a lot of land. They simply want to share camping grounds, which I believe would help morale of both nations’ citizens.”

          The advisor nodded along professionally but sighed at the conclusion of his words.

          “Sir,” he said, smiling coldly, and in a way that had Hanzo feeling embarrassed for expressing his opinion. “Of course, you may do whatever you feel the best, but I do implore you to take in consideration my words. This is not the time to be acting weak and opening our arms to the west. Please inform me how the meeting goes in your next written update.” He finished, any humor he had being completely wiped clean. The advisor spoke loudly and quickly, raising his voice as he finished. Hanzo prepared to reply, but the other man was already standing, bowing, and wishing Hanzo a good day before leaving.

          Of course, this introduction made the day of the actual meeting a stressful one. Hanzo dressed for the day grimly, pulling on his silk attire and slowly combing his hair to one shoulder and tying it loosely. Never before had he felt so evil when meeting with foreigners. In truth, he knew he wasn’t doing anything that cruel, but this conversation felt so terrible because it was filtered with the realization that his people completely dismissed those of the west, without good reason.

          Dejectedly, almost petulantly, Hanzo kneeled on the mat he had worn down in the years prior. It was familiar to him, and in its own way comfortable to Hanzo, but today it felt too thin and scratchy at the touch. Along with this, the tea was too cold, too bitter, and ended up hurting his stomach, all the incense felt too smoky and the perfume-like scent of the smoke did nothing cure the aching headache Hanzo was getting.

          None of it, however, still mattered when Hanzo let his eyes fall on the cowboy he had forced himself to forget. It was the moment people lived for but knew would never come true. It was the moment, only heard about through anecdotes and plays, never in reality, for it was the moment in which one realizes their purpose. This moment, this once-in-a-lifetime moment was the time when someone has to stop and feel the entire world and universe pull two people together. When Hanzo first saw Jesse there, in his Hanamura castle, in the meeting room where he had wasted boring hour after hour, in the land he called home, it was initially shocking, but quickly felt all-consuming. Hanzo wanted to smile and shake his head, tell him “howdy pardner” mockingly, before bumping shoulders and carefully but excitedly catching up over the nearly two years they spent apart. Instead, be it from fear or shock, Hanzo could continue to stare, silently willing the cowboy not to acknowledge the situation.

          The staring did some good however. It allowed Hanzo to finally feel all that he had closed off since he left the west so long ago. Finally, the man was able to pinpoint the nagging feeling in his chest to leave what he knew as home. For so long Hanzo blamed everything else than what his pain was actually from; he blamed the petulant and unforgiving dragons that bore into him day after day, inculcating the laws of their culture into his mind. Hanzo blamed his brother, for leaving the entirety of the clan’s duty to him and casting a poor light on the Shimada name. Mostly, Hanzo blamed himself. He considered himself weak, first for disobeying the dragons, then later for listening to them. He considered himself selfish, for failing in killing his brother, then for preparing himself to die. He felt better then, being in the presence of Jesse (oh how hard he tried in forgetting this name). Jesse, without any intention to, informed Hanzo that instead all of the trivial conflicts and major heartbreaks he felt himself enduring simply came from the fact that he missed this man’s companionship.

          (Though for a very brief second, Hanzo pitied himself when looking at Jesse then. For after almost two years, Hanzo could see the changes in the other man. He grown even more muscular and tanner, his hair longer and his beard scruffier, wilder. Hanzo knew it must be from being a member of the West’s League, but still felt fondness for this new, somehow gruffer, look.)

          Therefore, it wasn’t any surprise to Hanzo that once the short meeting concluded, he quickly bolted out of the room in a cold sweat, swiftly walked down the hall, up the stairs, and into an empty guest room. Another flight of stairs and he would have been back in his own room, but the idea of staying out with the possibility of bumping into someone was enough to make him scurry to the dusty room and slide the door shut, rather loudly, and lean back against the door for support. _Who's supposed to clean this room_ was his first thought. Informing the staff of the rooms neglect was the expected plan of action, but Hanzo knew that instead he would clean it himself, finding solace in being able to do physical labor, (while not stirring up any bad blood among his staff).

For now, the man collapsed into a big chair with a stiff floral fabric upholstered on it. It was an eyesore and rightfully resting in the unused guest room. Still, the man fell into it, letting his body go limp and his breaths slow down, as if he had come from running a marathon. Stiffly, Hanzo sat up and reached over to open a drawer beside him, pulling out the cloth bag of incense kept in reach spare room. Quickly he lit the wooden strand and let it rest on the plate beside him, filling the room with a soft perfume-like smell.

    Hanzo had, or so he had thought, successfully forgotten Jesse. He spent the better part of a year working his mind over every other matter than the cowboy. He didn't let himself think of the man, and when he did he cursed himself out before attempting to muddy his memories falsely.

What good did it do? Seeing him for only a few minutes was enough to have each and every second of his time with Jesse come flying back from his periphery. The time once again felt so powerful and important to him, and Hanzo felt anxious that he could suppress something so lovely. It was shameful to erase such a man.

Hanzo knew, through what he chopped up to be common sense but was really societal pessimism, that love could not grow that quickly. He spent less than two days with the man, he did not love him, he wouldn't dare let himself say infatuated with him either. Along with this, Hanzo refused to consider the other man his soulmate or that either of their encounters involved fate. He was a spiritual man, but Jesse was simply a good man. Yes, he saved his life, and yes, Hanzo felt a sense of gratitude for him that he would never be able to articulate, but that’s all it was, right?

Although comforted by his current solitude, Hanzo sensed his cheeks burn and redden at the thought of the kiss the two men had shared. Shamefully, Hanzo knew it was his only kiss, possibly forever. He was nearly a middle-aged man, but he had made no plan to secure a wife and instead focused on his duty to his clan. So, he cherished the kiss, thinking back on it like it was his wild night away from home--something that teenagers did, not men pushing forty. No, that kiss was as shameful as it was wonderful. It brought spirit back to Hanzo, and he remembered it as the kiss to sustain him until death.

And who he had kissed had helped make this kiss better. Jesse was kind, separate (until now) from Hanzo’s world of politics and duty. This was a safe man, a comfortable person who spoke as if his arms were always extended to welcome a hug. And Hanzo was always prepared to hug him, for the cowboy was undeniably attractive, with a warm and caring expression sitting under a handsome auburn haircut. This was all on top of the muscular body that was equally impressive and comforting. In his most sinful and mischievous fantasies Hanzo always found himself safely nestled against the man’s chest, tucked under his chin as the man spoke. The feel of his broad chest vibrating would be just as a baby in a bassinet, perfectly swaddled and protected.

      With a quickened heartbeat and reddened cheeks, Hanzo stood, nervously straightened his shirt, and left the room. He turned, sliding the door back, and turning again aggressively, only to be colliding heavily with someone.

“Damn, Partner.” He said, his breath light with humor.

Hanzo looked at the stranger's face, recognizing it as Jesse, and cursed some God for his shit poor luck. With a furrowed look, Jesse obviously did the same and diplomatically said, “Damn, Sir.” Before biting a smile. The cowboy looked too pleased with himself, with a growing side smile and kind eyes.

Hanzo simply frowned, frustrated with his own burning hot skin and laconic attitude.

“If I dare say,” Jesse began, taking a small step closer bending down just enough to align their eye contact. “I find this a rather hilarious turn of events. That whole damn time, uh, sir–” he quickly added to correct any misstep. “That whole time you were a famous gent. Just goes to show that I've been living under a rock.”

Hanzo barely heard him, and instead looked over the man's shoulder, checking for other people. Jesse rolled his eyes, but Hanzo felt relieved in not being able to see anyone, and hastily shoved both himself and the stocky cowboy into the room he was just in. He stepped in the room, his back turned to the other man as he desperately tried to regain any composure he had left with a few deep breaths.

          “What are you…” Hanzo began, his voice shakier than he’d like it to be. “Where are the others you were with?” He finished.

          “Your advisor was kind enough to let us stay here for a couple nights. Our commander and advisor left to go get the others. I said I’d just stay here and ‘prepare our rooms’ but really I was just hopin’ I’d get to bump into you. Not literally of course, but I guess my prayers were heard loud and clear.” He said, laughing nervously.

          Hanzo frowned again at the words.

          “Hell, here I am all excited to see you again I’m about to go faint, and you’re just glaring at me with fish hooks pulling your mouth down.”

          Sighing, Hanzo let his face soften at that.

          “I’m sorry. This is a stressful situation is all. You know how much your kindness means to me.”

          “Well,” Jesse started, bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Not was I was wishing for, but I’ll take it.” He said his with downcast eyes, but with a smile that was clearly touched nonetheless. “I am glad to finally know why you were so stubborn about bolting away two years ago.”

          Hanzo nodded, him being the head of the Shimada clan was more or less his excuse for leaving Jesse.

          Standing in front of the man, in the moment, made it all seem so trivial. How was there ever anything that could tear Hanzo away from him? He didn’t know what it was, but when being in the man’s presence, there was some part of the universe pulling and yanking them together, like there was a bystander holding a sign that read, ‘just kiss him already’. Hanzo would, but he confidently knew that only he could see the man with the sign.

          “Listen,” Jesse said. The humor from his face was gone and replaced with an open, gentle expression. Hanzo cursed himself; the man was treading carefully around him, evidently aware that he was more secure and temperate than Hanzo. “Listen, why don’t you show me what rooms we will be in, or just show me around if you’d like. You could help me unpack my bag I suppose; I left it in the hall while I was trying to figure out--”

          “Go get your bag.” Hanzo interrupted, smiling weakly. “You’ll be staying in this room. That is if the incense isn’t bothering you.”    

          “Not at all,” Jesse replied, smiling. His shoulder relaxed.

          Jesse did as told, grabbing his bag from down the hall. For whatever privileged reason, Hanzo had pictured some elegant suitcase, or at the very least some cowboy-looking knapsack, but instead was surprised to see a large dark green League bag, splattered with mud and fraying in multiple places.

          Tossing it down on a table, Jesse unzipped it and began unloading the contents.

          “Why did you join the League, Jesse? When I met you, I didn’t really peg you as having a stance on the war.”

          Jesse chuckled and looked embarrassed, for whatever reason. _Good, it’s his damn turn to be the embarrassed one,_ thought Hanzo

          “I didn’t, and I still don’t really.” He said, folding a wrinkled shirt. “Guess you could say meeting you made me realized how much of the world I was missing out on.” He shrugged as he spoke but turned to look at Hanzo. “Your country truly is gorgeous. I’m glad I came here, regardless of the long hikes and cold nights.” McCree smiled shortly before returning to his bag. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss the ranch at times. I’ll be glad be back home eventually.”

          As if timed cruelly, Jesse reached in the bottom of his gear and pulled out a red and navy blanket.

          Unable to stop himself, Hanzo smiled widely. “Hey, I know remember that.”

          “Yeah?” Jesse unfolded it loosely and tossed it on Hanzo, the dark yarn falling on top of his head and shoulders. “Probably smells like shit though, huh?”

          The blanket did vaguely smell like the earth, having probably been repeatedly used for outdoor nights and left unwashed. But even more so, the blanket smelled of Jesse. It had been a forgotten smell, but having it again reminded Hanzo of the ranch. He could recall the sound of the wooden floor creaking underweight, and the small lamplit rooms that, regardless of the time of day, felt readied for nighttime.

          Slowly, Hanzo pulled the blanket off his head, his hair no longer neatly coiffed and instead on a loose knot draping from one side of his head with random strands floating wildly. Jesse offered an amused expression as Hanzo flattened his hair and tossed the blanket, (rather feverishly), back into Jesse’s hold.

        “So, you said you're a fan of the scenery here?” Hanzo asked, redirecting the conversation before his old-man heart gave out.

    The cowboy shook his head in disbelief but answered him regardless. Again, acknowledging that the east was gorgeous and lush, a far cry from the dusty plains he came from, ‘as you know’, he added mischievously at the end. Hanzo sighed but nodded.

“It’s crowded here though.” Hanzo added, not thinking before speaking. “Too many people, too many plants and trees. It’s impossible to catch your breath.” He finished, his eyes lowered onto the ground.

 _Fuck Hanzo, quit it!_ He thought to himself. _You're talking to an enemy, you don't have any relationship with him. Stay professional._

Still, Hanzo was painfully aware that next to Jesse his heart felt open and tender, like a recent bruise that was still dark and purple. Being around Jesse was like bumping into hard furniture that opened the wound neatly, allowing for his blood to seep out and down, staining the nice fabrics he had been chosen for the room last year.

“Sorry, I know you've had a long trip. I’ll give you some space.” He said lamely, his eyes still casted down as he spoke. Planning on his escape he began towards the door but was stopped by Jesse’s words.

“Wait hold up! I just remembered this.” He said, turning back and digging in the bag one last time. He pulled out a small sewn clasp top, the end piece to Hanzo’s bow from two years ago.

“I don't know the hell this is,” he said, stepping towards a frozen Hanzo. “But I reckon it's yours. I figured I should bring it with me on the off chance our paths ever crossed.”

Hanzo took the end piece from McCree. It must have snapped off when he got his bow after leaving the ranch. It needn't matter, the piece was primarily decorative, and the bow was eventually left forgotten at the back of a pub while on the way back to the east.

“Oh, well, thank you, I didn't know that--”

Jesse must have sensed an impending bombardment of broken gratitude and formality because, having the blanket still in his hands, he tossed it back on Hanzo (again, rather aggressively), to shut him up. He didn't laugh this time, and instead looked serious as Hanzo bundled the woven blanket in his arms.

“Just take it. You don't seem to mind it, and I always thought it was a bit uncomfortable anyways.”

Hanzo wanted to argue, or, as he had been taught from birth, to bow and say, ‘thank you’ and nothing more. Making an untimely appearance, he could the whispers of his dragons in the back of his mind telling him to do just that. To leave quickly. To be hospitable and distant. To return to his own room and toss the blanket to the side. To go to bed. To say goodbye.

Instead, Hanzo felt his throat go dry and his eyes sting. Even while sitting in the lap of luxury, with everyone regarding him like a northern King, the kindness of Jesse still vibrated his core, plucking the untouched strings in his heart to compose the perfect melody.

Jesse, with unjudging eyes, had a furrowed brow as he closed the space between himself and Hanzo, like his initiation two years ago. This time, however, instead of tilting Hanzo’s chin up and pressing himself into the other man, he wrapped one long arm around the smaller man’s waist and let his free hand hold the back of his head, carefully pulling Hanzo in for a hug.

Hanzo wanted to be surprised and angry, and he felt his heart tightly tug as it fought his own emotions. Still, he found himself feeling safe and comforted. Like a child, Hanzo let his arms remain bent and open against Jesse’s chest. His palms stayed open and receptive to the soft touch of his dark green shirt.

Jesse stayed like that for a moment, but when he felt Hanzo go nearly limp against him, he reached around and locked the door behind Hanzo.  

“What the fuck?” Hanzo snapped, his mind taking almost a complete one-eighty turn.

Jesse laughed loud at that and shook his head. “Shit darlin’, I’m not tryna scare you or make a move or something. I just figured you wouldn't want to risk someone walking in. Doesn't seem like you get a lot of privacy in this palace.”

Hanzo chided himself. As always Jesse had the best of intentions and it was insult to him to have thought otherwise.

 _“Oh, please Hanzo. Let’s not begin with this again. You’re only going to get distracted from your obligations.”_ Gimu spoke inside Hanzo’s mind

 _“Distracted! Distracted!”_ Gisei predictably echoed.

 _“This hick is becoming a problem isn’t he Gisei?”_ Gimu continued, ignoring Hanzo’s presence. _“We mustn't allow our master to become--”_

“Hanzo.” Jesse began, unknowingly interrupting Gimu. “I wish I know what’s troubling you, and I don’t know how to help. Maybe you can’t tell me what’s going on, but I still wish you’d let me in a bit. I see you’re hurting.”

          Jesse’s voice, Hanzo was convinced, must carry some magical weight. For when he spoke, Gimu’s slick whispers disappeared. The little blue dragon had always been able to whisper directly into Hanzo’s thoughts, dominating over any other sound. But when Jesse spoke with his eyes heavily resting on Hanzo’s, his voice sounded close and all-consuming. It felt like he was hearing a secret shared only among themselves.

The two men, more or less, had been successful in keeping a safe relationship with each other. There were not any forbidden touches or glances, neither man spoke out of turn with a flirtation, threat, or crude joke. On paper it seemed like the two of them were friendly acquaintances, and, Hanzo figured, that was true. But every word they did speak, and every touch they did share, sent warning signals up to Hanzo’s brain, warning him that their relationship was no so innocuous. Unable to pinpoint, Hanzo was intrigued by this characteristic of Jesse’s: his being able naturally create a sense of comfort and security with his presence only. Hanzo wondered, as he leaned back into Jesse’s touch, whether or not Jesse did such things intentionally. Was he simply a good man? Or did he wake up every morning to work all day, attempting to better the lives of others? Hanzo did not deserve such a man in life regardless, but if Jesse was the one telling him to be selfish, he could do that.

          Their relationship, as innocent as it was (or perhaps wasn’t), had Hanzo spinning in circles and sick from whiplash. He had always thought, _the longer you spend alone, the less you need others._ It was mantra he hummed to himself since childhood. He could remember justifying eating alone at lunch as a child with the thought. He spent his years in the clan and battle training, going home each night alone, never sticking around with his peers. To this he explained with his mantra. _I haven’t ever had friends, so why should I need them now…?_

_I’m good at being alone, I get a lot done._

_Social events give me stress, so there is no need to attend them._

_I like what I accomplish on my own._

          Now Hanzo still did the same, although he, (up until now), required far less convincing from himself.

          But Jesse offered him the intimacy of such friendship he deeply starved for without the early awkward encounters, without the social obligations, without the constant missteps and annoyances with each other. The cowboy simply stood in the guestroom, miles away from his own home and belongings, with an open heart and no expectations.

          It was a kind of intimacy Hanzo was ill-prepared for, and it rattled inside him like a jackrabbit was let loose on his insides. So instead of articulating some of his profound thoughts and feelings, he fell completely limp against the other man, wrapped his arms tightly around his thick neck, and ignored the tears that began to stream down his buried face.

         It was either out blissful ignorance or true kindness that drove Jesse to kiss the top of Hanzo’s head and let a hand softy brush up and down his back in a slow rhythm, similar to a mother shushing her baby to sleep in a crib. Instinctively, Hanzo wanted to tighten his grip around Jesse before leaning up and accepting a kiss from the man. Instead he refocused his mind to enjoying the strictly platonic nature of their relationship and milking the hug for all that it was worth. He felt the security of the man’s arms, the patterned breaths translated into steady rises and falls of his chest. With this, Hanzo’s breathing settled and his heart ached little less.

    “Just, eh, fuck I’m getting snot on your shirt, sorry.” He said, not yet lifting his head.

   “Now you know that's no problem darlin’,” Jesse said, brushing Hanzo’s hair for a moment before leaning back and gesturing to his attire. “Hell, I could even say that your snot is the best thing on this shirt. It hasn't been washed in quite some time.”

“Yeah you do smell like shit.” Hanzo said, shyly smiling and rubbing his eyes.

“Now–” Jesse began, a furrowed brow and a pout to help him feign offense. “Wait just a minute. This is the doing of _your_ damn land, keep in mind.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go take a bath.”

     Hanzo ended up helping Jesse draw the bath and get everything ready before he went back into the spare room, deciding in waiting to finish their conversation and hopefully find a way to leave it more satisfactory. He was in the room for a few minutes when a group of westerners walked in, all expectedly loud and rambunctious with bumping shoulders and wild hyena laughter.

The noise died down almost immediately though, because they all stood still eyeing Hanzo. The oldest man of the group, the one Hanzo recognized from a little earlier as the leader of their group, Jack Morrison. He broke the tension with a diplomatic smile.

“I’m sorry. We were informed that this and the next four rooms were reserved for us.”

Morrison, as well spoken and polished as he seemed to be, stumbled quickly over his words, looking nervous and confused as to why the prestigious man he had just met with was standing in his supposed room.

It took a moment for Hanzo to answer; he couldn't figure out what words to say and how much of his professional mask he needed to use. Soberly, he would have told himself to be as proper as possible, but with Jesse in the other room having just completely bulldozed over his heart in a rather, terrifyingly and surprisingly romantic manner, he decided not professional at all.

“You can relax. I had just been showing Jesse around the rooms and letting him use the bath. Though, I should be going to bed myself. Have a nice night.”

Hanzo mustered up a smile and began to walk towards them to exit through the door they came from. Members of the group had already stepped out to go to the other rooms for the night.

    “Hey, wait.” Jesse said, stepping out of the bathroom with damp hair and fresh, soft clothes. He looked remade, and more importantly, comfortable. “You don't have to leave just yet. It's still early.” He finished, looking shyer than ever being surrounded by his comrades. _Cute._ Hanzo realized. _He looks adorable._

      Thus, Hanzo found himself sitting around a small circular table beside McCree and a girl named Pharah. Jack was a couple feet beside her and right next to him was a scary looking man he learned to be Gabriel. A small, pretty-looking girl was taking a bath and had stated that Pharah would be next. The two older men didn't seem to mind and instead nodded incredulously without any eye contact as they both looked at their respective hand of cards that had been dealt.

“Oi, boys. Now that the princess it gone for a few, why don't we say we pop open the liquor.” Pharah said glancing at the door.

“I don't think your wife minds alcohol” Jesse said, confusion warping his tone.

“She doesn’t, but she's tired and I want her to sleep well.”

The three other men at the table all shared an agreed noise somewhere between “aww” and a gruff acknowledged hum to compensate.

Pharah went to her bag and came back with a half-empty handle of a familiar copper liquid. She poured a few fingers for every at the table then looked at Hanzo. “Want to try some whiskey?” She asked innocently.

“Gods no.” Hanzo replied instinctively. He quickly added, “I’ve tried it before, not my choice of liquor.” It was a simple and true excuse, but Hanzo could still hear the muffled start of a bellowed laugh from his cowboy beside him as his shoulders strained to not shake.

The next couple hours went by similarly. With the westerners taking turns in the bath, each coming back out looking oddly at home and smelling like soft linen. The group at the table continued to play games and allude to small things Hanzo secretly knew about, and that Jesse secretly knew he knew. Each reference earned a small elbow jab from Jesse, acknowledging the events two years ago while keeping his face as inscrutable as ever among his friends.

They all seemed close. It was something Hanzo always measured in people, their relationships with one another. He never knew why, whether it was out of jealousy or mild selfish curiosity, but he did. He found himself often watching others to identify their life with others.

The small table was filled with an intimate group. Far more intimate than most people Hanzo knew ever got. Once the strangers realized Hanzo was a passive force unlike the serious ruler they first thought, they all relaxed and he quickly learned that he was sharing the table with two couples: a pair of wives and a pair of husbands. It gave Hanzo anxiety for himself to realize he was happy that Jesse was not one of the happy couples, but it also left him feeling slimy and selfish.

After a second round of drinks, (with one given to Mercy who stubbornly crossed her arms and pouted until awarded one), the group was completely relaxed and spent their final conscious hours of the day reminiscing about the west. Initially Hanzo thought it was just then plainly missing their hot air and stiff grass, but he learned it was the raw type of homesickness. They had all come from the same town, the same little town that was protected by miles of dry land that stretched out on all sides. The same town with wind whipped ranches and old splintering wood fences. Hearing them talk about missing going to the bar in the evenings or waking up and eating breakfast together at Mercy’s house, or them wanting to look up and see the same stars they always did, made Hanzo nostalgic for a life that wasn't even his. The group was so kind and easygoing, in the recesses of his mind Hanzo could picture himself living with Jesse in that small dusty ranch and eating spicy food with that group on Thursday nights. It was so simple to put himself in that picture, just plopping himself down in the empty slot beside Jesse. It was only complicated by the fact that he wasn't invited anymore.

Mercy passed out, her head cradled in her arms on the table. Pharah smiled and got up, impressively sober, and picked up her wife to take her to a mattress. She laid her down then scooted another mattress over to sit beside her and shuffle through some papers before falling asleep herself.

Morrison and Gabriel were finishing up their final game of cards, and Jesse looked tired too. Hanzo smiled, excused himself, finally feeling like he had overstayed his welcome, and left.

He hadn't realized that Jesse had followed him until he tried to slide the door shut behind him. The cowboy slid out of the room with a loose smile.

“Sorry we got hijacked, but it was fun. You fit with them well.” He said quietly

“No… Well, they're just kind people.”

Jesse nodded, seemingly happy Hanzo took the compliment.

“They're sweet too,” he thoughtlessly added. “Morrison and Jack are very good together.”

“Yeah.” Jesse said smilingly. His mind must have been turning though, because after a minute his brow furrowed in a questioningly look. “Wait, what?”

“I just mean they make a good couple.”

Jesse chuckled softly and shook his head. “Jack and Gabe aren't a-- HOLY SHIT!”

Jesse had the most amused expression on his face with wildly wide eyes and a happy, verging on aggressive, smile. He rushed to the door they just left, swung it open, and pointed at the men still holding cards in their hands.

“You two are dating?!” The question was hurled at them in a way that posed itself almost more like an accusation.

Hanzo could here Pharah say a distinct “Whaaaaaat?” in her sarcastic tone that had him knowing the two boys would be getting hell from her for the night.

“Damn it McCree, what the fresh hell are you doing?” Morrison snapped.

Jesse laughed, almost evilly, before sliding the door back shut and turning back around with a shaking head and a bright smile.

“Oh boy, that damn near gave me a heart attack.” He said, his smile so big it looked like it was about to rip his skin. He leaned over to kiss Hanzo atop his head. “Thank you, darlin’. This the best damn thing I could have imagined.”

Jesse smiled as Hanzo blushed but scraped a hand over his face to calm himself down.

“Why do they all call you McCree?” Hanzo asked, having sat on the question most of the night.

“Don’t know, everyone does though.”

“Oh… really?”

“Yep.”

“Should I then? I feel rude otherwise.”

“Don’t,” said Jesse smiling warmly at him. “I think It’s rather sweet. I'm rather fond of you using my first name.”

          Hanzo was already beat red and overheated by this admission, but to top it off the cowboy leaned in towards him and slid one of his soft, though lightly calloused, hands against Hanzo’s cheek and back around his neck in an intimate sort of gesture.

          _I swear to the Lucifer’s balls if you don’t get your shit together this instant,_ thought Hanzo, attempting to telepathically relay a message to his dick. _I am never going to please you again you piece of shit you’re embarrassing me. Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your sperm! Dishonor on all your ex-potential family!_

Hanzo’s mind was far from the cowboy’s touch. He fired all his rage southwards in attempt to ease the buzzing excitement he felt from there. Jesse must have noticed a change in tone because he quickly lifted his hand away. Hanzo snapped out of his internal scolding to apologize but was interrupted by a gasp of pain from the cowboy. Jesse had both of his hands clawing at his own skull as if to tear it open and rip out what was causing his pain. He continued to gasp and moan before doubling over and falling to his knees, his cries growing louder.

          Hanzo knelt beside him, at first shushing him as if to cure an ailing headache but quickly realized it was being caused by something much stronger than mere dehydration or lack of sleep.

          Jesse had sat up for a moment to reveal reddened and bloody eyes, the bloody tears beginning to bubble at the rims before spilling over and sliding down the man’s face. Again, Jesse cried in pain, hunched over on the wooden floor.

          “What can I do? Jesse?” Hanzo spoke quickly, hoping the other man would have some answer or that if time was bought he could find some way to help. Morrison slid the door open, initially looking confused and agitated, but immediately turning to a steady expression upon seeing his friend. He turned around and got Mercy, pulling her off her mattress and out of sleep. Hanzo knew the small girl had to still be tipsy, but her concerned eyes looked sober as she knelt beside Jesse. She lifted his hands to look at his head, but once his palms were lifted they revealed a bloody mess atop his head, caused by deep lacerations that appeared to be growing without rhyme or reason. Suddenly, it all clicked with Hanzo.

          White hot rage filled his vision, so much so that he could no longer hear or see anything except his anger. It was all-consuming and enough to knock him out cold.

 _“GIMU!”_ He shouted into his mind. His fury was far enough to be heard by his ancestral dragon. _“GIMU! Get the fuck out here you spineless bastard!”_

          Still there was no response from either dragon. Hanzo grunted primally before focusing his vision back on Jesse. With one hand tightly on either side of his face, he lifted Jesse’s face to look at his bloodied half-lidded eyes.

          “Oh Jesse,” whispered Hanzo, feeling his heart crack and splinter at the sight. “Please come back to me.”

          He paused for a second, hoping it would be enough, but knew it wasn’t and let his thumbs rest at the top of the man’s eyelids, pulling them up to reveal his once beautiful emerald eyes.

          “Gimu,” He said loudly. “Come forward. Return.”

          A silent moment went by. The small crowd surrounded him, watching with worried intent. With a choking gasp, Hanzo felt the dragon’s presence.

          _“We warned you Hanzo!”_ Gimu yelled, his blue eyes filled with so much rage that the color stayed as his body moved, creating discomforting blue strands of light.

 _“Warned you! Warned you!”_ Gisei hiccupped, laughing highly and viciously. _“We warned you!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for getting all the way to the end omg damn. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can. They make me so happy even if they're super short!! No joke, it's mega important to me <3 
> 
> My tumblr that I [occasionally] live on is bebster.tumblr.com  
> so hit me the fuck up
> 
> Lastly, I really want to just have friends online too, so if you wanna role play / cowrite / chat / or send me your tumblr just cause, go right ahead and send it in a comment!


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